GIFT  OF 
Publisher 


EDUCATION  DEF*t, 


SHORT  STORIES 
OLD  AND  NEW 


SELECTED  AND  EDITED 
BY 

C.  ALPHONSO  SMITH 

HEAD  OF  THE  DEPARTMENT  OF  ENGLISH,  UNITED  STATES 

NAVAL  ACADEMY,  ANNAPOLIS 
AUTHOR  OF  "THE  AMERICAN  SHORT  STORY" 

"THE  O.  HENRY  BIOGRAPHY,"  ETC. 


GINN  AND  COMPANY 

BOSTON    •    NEW   YORK    •    CHICAGO    •    LONDON 
ATLANTA    •    DALLAS   •    COLUMBUS    •    SAN    FRANCISCO 


COPYRIGHT,  1916,  BY 
C.  ALPHONSO  SMITH 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


224.9 


Bfft     Pmblisher 


gfre 


GINN  AND  COMPANY  •  PRO- 
PRIETORS •  BOSTON  •  U.S.A. 


INTRODUCTION 

Every  short  story  has  three  parts,  which  may  be  called 
Setting  or  Background,  Plot  or  Plan,  and  Characters  or  Char- 
acter. If  you  are  going  to  write  a  short  story,  as  I  hope  you 
are,  you  will  find  it  necessary  to  think  through  these  three 
parts  so  as  to  relate  them  interestingly  and  naturally  one  to 
the  other ;  and  if  you  want  to  assimilate  the  best  that  is  in  the 
following  stories,  you  will  do  well  to  approach  them  by  the 
same  three  routes. 

The  Setting  or  Background  gives  us  the  time  and  the  place 
of  the  story  with  such  details  of  custom,  scenery,  and  dialect 
as  time  and  place  imply.  It  answers  the  questions  When? 
Where?  The  Plot  tells  us  what  happened.  It  gives  us  the 
incidents  and  events,  the  haps  or  mishaps,  that  are  interwoven 
to  make  up  the  warp  and  woof  of  the  story.  Sometimes  there 
is  hardly  any  interweaving ;  just  a  plain  plan  or  simple  outline 
is  followed,  as  in  "The  Christmas  Carol"  or  "The  Great  Stone 
Face."  We  may  still  call  the  core  of  these  two  stories  the  Plot, 
if  we  want  to,  but  Plan  would  be  the  more  accurate.  This  part 
of  the  story  answers  the  question  What  ?  Under  the  heading 
Characters  or  Character  we  study  the  personalities  of  the  men 
and  women  who  move  through  the  story  and  give  it  unity  and 
coherence.  Sometimes,  as  in  "  The  Christmas  Carol"  or 
"  Markheim,"  one  character  so  dominates  the  others  that  they 
are  mere  spokes  in  his  hub  or  incidents  in  his  career.  But  in 
"  The  Gift  of  the  Magi,"  though  more  space  is  given  to  Delia, 
she  and  Jim  act  from  the  same  motive  and  contribute  equally 
to  the  development  of  the  story.  In  one  of  our  stories  the 

ill 


main  character  is  a  dog,  but  he  is  so  human  that  we  may  still 
say  that  the  chief  question  to  be  answered  under  this  heading 
is  Whol 

Many  books  have  been  written  about  these  three  parts  of  a 
short  story,  but  the  great  lesson  to  be  learned  is  that  the  excel- 
lence of  a  story,  long  or  short,  consists  not  in  the  separate 
excellence  of  the  Setting  or  of  the  Plot  or  of  the  Characters 
but  in  the  perfect  blending  of  the  three  to  produce  a  single 
effect  or  to  impress  a  single  truth.  If  the  Setting  does  not  fit 
the  Plot,  if  the  Plot  does  not  rise  gracefully  from  the  Setting, 
if  the  Characters  do  not  move  naturally  and  self-revealingly 
through  both,  the  story  is  a  failure.  Emerson  might  well  have 
had  our  three  parts  of  the  short  story  in  mind  when  he  wrote, 

All  are  needed  by  each  one ; 
Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION iii 

I.  ESTHER i 

From  the  Old  Testament 

II.  THE    HISTORY    OF    ALI    BABA    AND    THE    FORTY 

ROBBERS 24 

From  "  The  Arabian  Nights  " 

III.  RIP  VAN  WINKLE 44 

By  Washington  Irving 

IV.  THE  GOLD-BUG .      65 

By  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

V.  A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL 109 

By  Charles  Dickens 

VI.  THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE 148 

By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

VII.  RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS 173 

By  Dr.  John  Brown 

VIII.  THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT 191 

By  Bret  Harte 

IX.  MARKHEIM 206 

By  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

X.  THE  NECKLACE 228 

By  Guy  de  Maupassant 

XL  THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING 241 

By  Rudyard  Kipling 

XII.  THE  GIFT  OF  THE  MAGI ...    .    285 

By  O.  Henry 

v 


SHORT  STORIES 
I.  ESTHER1 

AUTHOR  UNKNOWN 

[Setting.  The  events  take  place  in  Susa,  the  capital  of  Persia, 
in  the  reign  of  Ahasuerus,  or  Xerxes  (485-465  B.C.).  This 
foreign  locale  intensifies  the  splendid  Jewish  patriotism  that 
breathes  through  the  story  from  beginning  to  end.  If  the 
setting  had  been  in  Jerusalem,  Esther  could  not  have  preached 
the  noble  doctrine,  "  When  in  Rome,  don't  do  as  Rome  does, 
but  be  true  to  the  old  ideals  of  home  and  race." 

Plot.  "Esther"  seems  to  me  the  best-told  story  in  the  Bible. 
Observe  how  the  note  of  empty  Persian  bigness  versus  simple 
Jewish  faith  is  struck  at  the  very  beginning  and  is  echoed  to 
the  end.  Thus,  Ahasuerus  ruled  over  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
seven  provinces,  the  opening  banquet  lasted  one  hundred  and 
eighty-seven  days,  the  king's  bulletins  were  as  unalterable  as 
the  tides,  the  gallows  erected  was  eighty-three  feet  high,  the 
beds  were  of  gold  and  silver  upon  a  pavement  of  red  and  blue 
and  white  and  black  marble,  the  money  wrested  from  the  Jews 
was  to  be  eighteen  million  dollars,  etc.  The  word  "  banquet " 
occurs  twenty  times  in  this  short  story  and  only  twenty  times 
in  all  the  remaining  thirty-eight  books  of  the  Old  Testament. 
In  other  words,  Ahasuerus  and  his  trencher-mates  ate  and  drank 
as  much  in  five  days  as  had  been  eaten  and  drunk  by  all  the 
other  Old  Testament  characters  from  "  Genesis  "  to  "  Malachi." 

Note  also  the  contrast  between  the  two  queens,  the  two 
prime  ministers,  the  two  edicts,  and  the  two  later  banquets. 

1  From  the  Old  Testament,  Authorized  Version. 


SHORT  STORIES 


The  most  masterly  part  of  the  plot  is  the  handling  of  events 
between  these  banquets.  Read  again  from  chapter  v,  beginning 
at  verse  9,  through  chapter  vi,  and  note  how  skillfully  the  pen 
is  held.  In  motivation  as  well  as  in  symmetry  and  naturalness 
the  story  is  without  a  peer.  There  is  humor,  too,  in  the  solemn 
deliberations  over  Vashti's  "  No  "  (chapter  i,  verses  12-22)  and 
in  the  strange  procession  led  by  pedestrian  Haman  (chapter  vi, 
verses  6-u). 

The  purpose  of  the  story  was  to  encourage  the  feast  of 
Purim  (chapter  ix,  verses  20-32)  and  to  promote  national  soli- 
darity. It  may  be  compared  to  "  A  Christmas  Carol,"  which 
was  written  to  restore  the  waning  celebration  of  Christmas, 
and  to  our  Declaration  of  Independence,  which  is  re-read  on 
every  Fourth  of  July  to  quicken  our  sense  of  national  fellow- 
ship. But  ft  Esther  "  is  more  than  an  institution.  It  is  the  old 
story  of  two  conflicting  civilizations,  one  representing  bigness, 
the  other  greatness;  one  standing  for  materialism,  the  other 
for  idealism ;  one  enthroning  the  body,  the  other  the  spirit. 

Characters.  These  are  finely  individualized,  though  each 
seems  to  me  a  type.  Ahasuerus  is  a  tank  that  runs  blood  or 
wine  according  to  the  hand  that  turns  the  spigot.  He  was  used 
for  good  but  deserves  and  receives  no  credit  for  it.  No  man 
ever  missed  a  greater  opportunity.  He  was  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  two  greatest  world-civilizations  of  history;  but, 
understanding  neither,  he  remains  only  a  muddy  place  in  the 
road  along  which  Greek  and  Hebrew  passed  to  world-conquest. 
Haman,  a  blend  of  vanity  and  cruelty  and  cowardice  but  not 
without  some  power  of  initiative,  was  a  fit  minister  for  his  king. 
He  lives  in  history  as  one  who,  better  than  in  Hamlet's  illus- 
tration, was  "  hoist  with  his  own  petard,"  the  petard  in  his  case 
being  a  gallows.  He  typifies  also  the  just  fate  of  the  man  who, 
spurred  by  the  hate  of  one,  includes  in  his  scheme  of  extermi- 
nation a  whole  people.  Collective  vengeance  never  received  a 
better  illustration  nor  a  more  exemplary  punishment  Mordecai 
is  altogether  admirable  in  refusing  to  kowtow  to  Haman  and  in 


ESTHER  3 

his  unselfish  devotion  to  his  fair  cousin,  Esther.  The  noblest 
sentiment  in  the  book  —  "  Who  knoweth  whether  thou  art  come 
to  the  kingdom  for  such  a  time  as  this  ? " —  comes  from  Mordecai. 
But  the  leading  character  is  Esther,  not  because  she  was 
"  fair  and  beautiful "  but  because  she  was  hospitable  to  the 
great  thought  suggested  by  Mordecai.  None  but  a  Jew  could 
have  asked,  "  Who  knoweth  whether  thou  art  come  to  the  king- 
dom for  such  a  time  as  this  ? "  and  none  but  a  Jew  could  have 
answered  as  Esther  answered.  The  question  implied  a  sense 
of  personal  responsibility  and  of  divine  guidance  far  beyond 
the  reach  of  Persian  or  Mede  or  Greek  of  that  time.  It  calls 
up  many  a  quiet  hour  when  Esther  and  Mordecai  talked 
together  of  their  strange  lot  in  this  heathen  land  and  wondered 
if  the  time  would  ever  come  when  they  could  interpret  their 
trials  in  terms  of  national  service  rather  than  of  meaningless 
fate.  Imagine  the  blank  and  bovine  expression  that  Ahasuerus 
or  Haman  would  have  turned  upon  you  if  you  had  put  such 
a  question  to  either  of  them.  But  in  the  case  of  Esther, 
Mordecai's  appeal  unlocked  an  unused  reservoir  of  power 
that  has  made  her  one  of  the  world's  heroines.  She  had  her 
faults,  or  rather  her  limitations,  but  since  her  time  men  have 
gone  to  the  stake,  have  built  up  and  torn  down  principalities 
and  powers,  on  the  dynamic  conviction  that  they  had  been 
sent  to  the  kingdom  "  for  such  a  time  as  this."] 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  STORY  OF  VASHTI 

1.  Now  it  came  to  pass  in  the  days  of  Ahasuerus,  (this  is 
Ahasuerus  which  reigned  from  India  even  unto  Ethiopia,  over 
a  hundred  and  seven  and  twenty  provinces,) 

2.  That  in  those  days,  when  the  king  Ahasuerus  sat  on  the 
throne  of  his  kingdom,  which  was  in  Shushan  the  palace, 


4  SHORT  STORIES 

3.  In  the  third  year  of  his  reign,  he  made  a  feast  unto  all 
his  princes  and  his  servants;  the  power  of  Persia  and  Media, 
the  nobles  and  princes  of  the  provinces,  being  before  him : 

4.  When  he  shewed  the  riches  of  his  glorious  kingdom  and 
the  honour  of  his  excellent  majesty  many  days,  even  a  hundred 
and  fourscore  days. 

5.  And  when  these  days  were  expired,  the  king  made  a  feast 
unto  all  the  people  that  were  present  in  Shushan  the  palace, 
both  unto  great  and  small,  seven  days,  in  the  court  of  the 
garden  of  the  king's  palace; 

6.  Where  were  white,  green,  and  blue  hangings,  fastened 
with  cords  of  fine  linen  and  purple  to  silver  rings  and  pillars  of 
marble:  the  beds  were  of  gold  and  silver,  upon  a  pavement 
of  red,  and  blue,  and  white,  and  black  marble. 

7.  And  they  gave  them  drink  in  vessels  of  gold,  (the  vessels 
being  diverse  one  from  another,)  and  royal  wine  in  abundance, 
according  to  the  state  of  the  king. 

8.  And   the   drinking   was   according   to   the    law;    none 
did  compel:  for  so  the  king  had  appointed  to  all  the  officers 
of  his  house,  that  they  should  do  according  to  every  man's 
pleasure. 

9.  Also  Vashti  the  queen  made  a  feast  for  the  women  in 
the  royal  house  which  belonged  to  king  Ahasuerus. 

10.  On  the  seventh  day,  when  the  heart  of  the  king  was 
merry  with  wine,  he  commanded  Mehuman,  Biztha,  Harbona, 
Bigtha,  and  Abagtha,  Zethar,  and  Carcas,  the  seven  chamber- 
lains that  served  in  the  presence  of  Ahasuerus  the  king, 

11.  To  bring  Vashti  the  queen  before  the  king  with  the 
crown  royal,  to  shew  the  people  and  the  princes  her  beauty : 
for  she  was  fair  to  look  on. 

12.  But  the  queen  Vashti  refused  to  come  at  the  king's  com- 
mandment by  his  chamberlains :  therefore  was  the  king  very 
wroth,  and  his  anger  burned  in  him. 


ESTHER  5 

13.  Then  the  king  said  to  the  wise  men,  which  knew  the 
times,  (for  so  was  the  king's  manner  toward  all  that  knew  law 
and  judgment : 

1 4.  And  the  next  unto  him  was  Carshena,  Shethar,  Admatha, 
Tarshish,  Meres,  Marsena,  and  Memucan,  the  seven  princes  of 
Persia  and  Media,  which  saw  the  king's  face,  and  which  sat 
the  first  in  the  kingdom,) 

15.  What  shall  we  do  unto  the  queen  Vashti  according  to 
law,  because  she  hath  not  performed  the  commandment  of  the 
king  Ahasuerus  by  the  chamberlains  ? 

1 6.  And  Memucan  answered  before  the  king  and  the  princes, 
Vashti  the  queen  hath  not  done  wrong  to  the  king  only,  but 
also  to  all  the  princes,  and  to  all  the  people  that  are  in  all  the 
provinces  of  the  king  Ahasuerus. 

17.  For  this  deed  of  the  queen  shall  come  abroad  unto  all 
women,  so  that  they  shall  despise  their  husbands  in  their  eyes, 
when  it  shall  be  reported,  The  king  Ahasuerus  commanded 
Vashti   the   queen   to    be   brought    in    before   him,   but   she 
came  not. 

1 8.  Likewise  shall  the  ladies  of  Persia  and  Media  say  this  day 
unto  all  the  king's  princes,  which  have  heard  of  the  deed  of  the 
queen.    Thus  shall  there  arise  too  much  contempt  and  wrath. 

19.  If  it  please  the  king,  let  there  go  a  royal  commandment 
from  him,  and  let  it  be  written  among  the  laws  of  the  Persians 
and  the  Medes,  that  it  be  not  altered,  That  Vashti  come  no 
more  before  king  Ahasuerus ;  and  let  the  king  give  her  royal 
estate  unto  another  that  is  better  than  she. 

20.  And  when  the  king's  decree,  which  he  shall  make,  shall 
be  published  throughout  all  his  empire,  (for  it  is  great,)  all  the 
wives  shall  give  to  their  husbands  honour,  both  to  great  and 
small. 

2 1 .  And  the  saying  pleased  the  king  and  the  princes ;  and 
the  king  did  according  to  the  word  of  Memucan : 


SHORT  STORIES 


22.  For  he  sent  letters  into  all  the  king's  provinces,  into 
every  province  according  to  the  writing  thereof,  and  to  every 
people  after  their  language,  that  every  man  should  bear  rule  in 
his  own  house,  and  that  it  should  be  published  according  to  the 
language  of  every  people. 


CHAPTER  II 
ESTHER  MADE  QUEEN 

1.  After  these  things,  when  the  wrath  of  king  Ahasuerus 
was  appeased,  he  remembered  Vashti,  and  what  she  had  done, 
and  what  was  decreed  against  her. 

2.  Then  said  the  king's  servants  that  ministered  unto  him, 
Let  there  be  fair  young  virgins  sought  for  the  king : 

3.  And  let  the  king  appoint  officers  in  all  the  provinces  of 
his  kingdom,  that  they  may  gather  together  all  the  fair  young 
virgins  unto  Shushan  the  palace,  to  the  house  of  the  women, 
unto  the  custody  of  Hegai  the  king's  chamberlain,  keeper  of 
the  women ;  and  let  their  things  for  purification  be  given  them  : 

4.  And  let  the  maiden  which  pleaseth  the  king  be  queen 
instead  of  Vashti.    And  the  thing  pleased  the  king;  and  he 
did  so. 

5.  Now  in  Shushan  the  palace  there  was  a  certain  Jew, 
whose  name  was  Mordecai,  the  son  of  Jair,  the  son  of  Shimei, 
the  son  of  Kish,  a  Benjamite ; 

6.  Who  had  been  carried  away  from  Jerusalem  with  the  cap- 
tivity which  had  been  carried  away  with  Jeconiah  king  of  Judah, 
whom  Nebuchadnezzar  the  king  of  Babylon  had  carried  away. 

7.  And  he  brought  up  Hadassah,  that  is,  Esther,  his  uncle's 
daughter:  for  she  had  neither  father  nor  mother,  and  the  maid 
was  fair  and  beautiful ;  whom  Mordecai,  when  her  father  and 
mother  were  dead,  took  for  his  own  daughter. 


ESTHER  7 

8.  So  it  came  to  pass,  when  the  king's  commandment  and 
his  decree  was  heard,  and  when  many  maidens  were  gathered 
together  unto  Shushan  the  palace,  to  the  custody  of  Hegai, 
that  Esther  was  brought  also  unto  the  king's  house,  to  the 
custody  of  Hegai,  keeper  of  the  women. 

9.  And  the  maiden  pleased  him,  and  she  obtained  kindness 
of  him ;  and  he  speedily  gave  her  her  things  for  purification, 
with  such  things  as  belonged  to  her,  and  seven  maidens,  which 
were  meet  to  be  given  her,  out  of  the  king's  house:  and  he 
preferred  her  and  her  maids  unto  the  best  place  of  the  house 
of  the  women. 

10.  Esther  had  not  shewed  her  people  nor  her  kindred:  for 
Mordecai  had  charged  her  that  she  should  not  shew  it. 

11.  And  Mordecai  walked  every  day  before  the  court  of  the 
women's  house,  to  know  how  Esther  did,  and  what  should 
become  of  her. 

12.  Now  when  every  maid's  turn  was  come  to  go  in  to  king 
Ahasuerus,  after  that  she  had  been  twelve  months,  according 
to  the  manner  of  the  women,  (for  so  were  the  days  of  their 
purifications  accomplished,  to  wit,  six  months  with  oil  of  myrrh, 
and  six  months  with  sweet  odours,  and  with  other  things  for 
the  purifying  of  the  women,) 

13.  Then  thus  came  every  maiden  unto  the  king;  whatso- 
ever she  desired  was  given  her  to  go  with  her  out  of  the  house 
of  the  women  unto  the  king's  house. 

1 4.  In  the  evening  she  went,  and  on  the  morrow  she  returned 
into  the  second  house  of  the  women,  to  the  custody  of  Shaash- 
gaz,  the  king's  chamberlain,  which  kept  the  concubines :  she 
came  in  unto  the  king  no  more,  except  the  king  delighted  in 
her,  and  that  she  were  called  by  name. 

15.  Now  when  the  turn  of  Esther,  the  daughter  of  Abihail 
the  uncle  of  Mordecai,  who  had  taken  her  for  his  daughter, 
was  come  to  go  in  unto  the  king,  she  required  nothing  but  what 


8  SHORT  STORIES 

Hegai  the  king's  chamberlain,  the  keeper  of  the  women, 
appointed.  And  Esther  obtained  favour  in  the  sight  of  all  them 
that  looked  upon  her. 

1 6.  So  Esther  was  taken  unto  king  Ahasuerus  into  his  house 
royal  in  the  tenth  month,  which  is  the  month  Tebeth,  in  the 
seventh  year  of  his  reign. 

17.  And  the  king  loved  Esther  above  all  the  women,  and  she 
obtained  grace  and  favour  in  his  sight  more  than  all  the  virgins  ; 
so  that  he  set  the  royal  crown  upon  her  head,  and  made  her 
queen  instead  of  Vashti. 

1 8.  Then  the  king  made  a  great  feast  unto  all  his  princes 
and  his  servants,  even  Esther's  feast ;  and  he  made  a  release  to 
the  provinces,  and  gave  gifts,  according  to  the  state  of  the  king. 

19.  And  when  the  virgins  were  gathered  together  the  second 
time,  then  Mordecai  sat  in  the  king's  gate. 

20.  Esther  had  not  yet  shewed  her  kindred  nor  her  people, 
as  Mordecai  had  charged  her:  for  Esther  did  the  command- 
ment of  Mordecai,  like  as  when  she  was  brought  up  with  him. 

MORDECAI  SAVES  THE  KING'S  LIFE 

21.  In  those  days,  while  Mordecai  sat  in  the  king's  gate,  two 
of  the  king's  chamberlains,  Bigthan  and  Teresh,  of  those  which 
kept  the  door,  were  wroth,  and  sought  to  lay  hand  on  the  king 
Ahasuerus. 

22.  And  the  thing  was  known  to  Mordecai,  who  told  it  unto 
Esther  the  queen;  and  Esther  certified  the  king  thereof  in 
Mordecai's  name. 

23.  And  when  inquisition  was  made  of  the  matter,  it  was 
found  out ;  therefore  they  were  both  hanged  on  a  tree :  and  it 
was  written  in  the  book  of  the  chronicles  before  the  king. 


ESTHER  9 

CHAPTER  III 
THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  HAMAN 

1.  After  these  things  did  king  Ahasuerus  promote  Haman 
the  son  of  Hammedatha  the  Agagite,  and  advanced  him,  and 
set  his  seat  above  all  the  princes  that  were  with  him. 

2.  And  all  the  king's  servants,  that  were  in  the  king's  gate, 
bowed,  and  reverenced  Haman:    for  the  king  had  so  com- 
manded concerning  him.    But  Mordecai  bowed  not,  nor  did 
him  reverence. 

3.  Then  the  king's  servants,  which  were  in  the  king's  gate, 
said  unto  Mordecai,  Why  transgressest  thou  the  king's  com- 
mandment ? 

4.  Now  it  came  to  pass,  when  they  spake  daily  unto  him, 
and  he  hearkened  not  unto  them,  that  they  told  Haman,  to  see 
whether  Mordecai's  matters  would  stand :  for  he  had  told  them 
that  he  was  a  Jew. 

5.  And  when  Haman  saw  that  Mordecai  bowed  not,  nor  did 
him  reverence,  then  was  Haman  full  of  wrath. 

6.  And  he  thought  scorn  to  lay  hands  on  Mordecai  alone ; 
for  they  had  shewed  him  the  people  of  Mordecai:  wherefore 
Haman  sought  to  destroy  all  the  Jews  that  were  throughout 
the  whole  kingdom  of  Ahasuerus,  even  the  people  of  Mordecai. 

7.  In   the  first  month,  that  is,  the   month  Nisan,  in   the 
twelfth  year  of  king  Ahasuerus,  they  cast  Pur,  that  is,  the  lot, 
before  Haman  from  day  to  day,  and  from  month  to  month,  to 
the  twelfth  month,  that  is,  the  month  Adar. 

8.  And  Haman  said  unto  king  Ahasuerus,  There  is  a  certain 
people  scattered  abroad  and  dispersed  among  the  people  in  all 
the  provinces  of  thy  kingdom ;  and  their  laws  are  diverse  from 
all  people ;   neither  keep  they  the  king's  laws :  therefore  it  is 
not  for  the  king's  profit  to  suffer  them. 


I0  SHORT  STORIES 

9.  If  it  please  the  king,  let  it  be  written  that  they  may  be 
destroyed :  and  I  will  pay  ten  thousand  talents  of  silver  to  the 
hands  of  those  that  have  the  charge  of  the  business,  to  bring  it 
into  the  king's  treasuries. 

10.  And  the  king  took  his  ring  from  his  hand,  and  gave  it 
unto  Haman  the  son  of  Hammedatha  the  Agagite,  the  Jews', 
enemy. 

11.  And  the  king  said  unto  Haman,  The  silver  is  given  to 
thee,  the  people  also,  to  do  with  them  as  it  seemeth  good 
to  thee. 

12.  Then  were  the  king's  scribes  called  on  the  thirteenth  day 
of  the  first  month,  and  there  was  written  according  to  all  that 
Haman  had  commanded  unto  the  king's  lieutenants,  and  to 
the  governors  that  were  over  every  province,  and  to  the  rulers  of 
every  people  of  every  province  according  to  the  writing  thereof, 
and  to  every  people  after  their  language ;  in  the  name  of  king 
Ahasuerus  was  it  written,  and  sealed  with  the  king's  ring. 

13.  And  the  letters  were  sent  by  posts  into  all  the  king's 
provinces,  to  destroy,  to  kill,  and  to  cause  to  perish,  all  Jews, 
both  young  and  old,  little  children  and  women,  in  one  day, 
even  upon  the  thirteenth  day  of  the  twelfth  month,  which  is  the 
month  Adar,  and  to  take  the  spoil  of  them  for  a  prey. 

1 4.  The  copy  of  the  writing  for  a  commandment  to  be  given 
in  every  province  was  published  unto  all  people,  that  they 
should  be  ready  against  that  day. 

15.  The  posts  went  out,  being  hastened  by  the  king's  com- 
mandment, and  the  decree  was  given  in  Shushan  the  palace. 
And  the  king  and  Haman  sat  down  to  drink;  but  the  city 
Skushan  was  perplexed. 


ESTHER  1 1 

CHAPTER  IV 
FASTING  AMONG  THE  JEWS 

1.  When  Mordecai  perceived  all  that  was  done,  Mordecai 
rent  his  clothes,  and  put  on  sackcloth  with  ashes,  and  went 
out  into  the  midst  of  the  city,  and  cried  with  a  loud  and  a 
bitter  cry ; 

2.  And  came  even  before  the  king's  gate:  for  none  might 
enter  into  the  king's  gate  clothed  with  sackcloth. 

3.  And  in  every  province,  whithersoever  the  king's  com- 
mandment and  his  decree  came,  there  was  great  mourning 
among  the  Jews,  and  fasting,  and  weeping,  and  wailing ;  and 
many  lay  in  sackcloth  and  ashes. 

4.  So  Esther's  maids  and  her  chamberlains  came  and  told 
it  her.    Then  was  the  queen  exceedingly  grieved ;  and  she  sent 
raiment  to  clothe  Mordecai,  and  to  take  away  his  sackcloth 
from  him :  but  he  received  it  not. 

5.  Then  called  Esther  for  Hatach,  one  of  the  king's  chamber- 
lains, whom  he  had  appointed  to  attend  upon  her,  and  gave 
him  a  commandment  to  Mordecai,  to  know  what  it  was,  and 
why  it  was. 

6.  So  Hatach  went  forth  to  Mordecai  unto  the  street  of  the 
city,  which  was  before  the  king's  gate. 

7.  And  Mordecai  told  him  of  all  that  had  happened  unto 
him,  and  of  the  sum  of  the  money  that  Haman  had  promised 
to  pay  to  the  king's  treasuries  for  the  Jews,  to  destroy  them. 

8.  Also  he  gave  him  the  copy  of  the  writing  of  the  decree 
that  was  given  at  Shushan  to  destroy  them,  to  shew  it  unto 
Esther,  and  to  declare  it  unto  her,  and  to  charge  her  that  she 
should  go  in  unto  the  king,  to  make  supplication  unto  him,  and 
to  make  request  before  him  for  her  people. 

9.  And  Hatach  came  and  told  Esther  the  words  of  Mordecai. 


12  SHORT  STORIES 

10.  Again  Esther  spake  unto  Hatach,  and  gave  him  com- 
mandment unto  Mordecai ; 

11.  All  the  king's  servants,  and  the  people  of  the  king's 
provinces,  do  know,  that  whosoever,  whether  man  or  woman, 
shall  come  unto  the  king  into  the  inner  court,  who  is  not  called, 
there  is  one  law  of  his  to  put  him  to  death,  except  such  to  whom 
the  king  shall  hold  out  the  golden  sceptre,  that  he  may  live : 
but  I  have  not  been  called  to  come  in  unto  the  king  these 
thirty  days. 

12.  And  they  told  to  Mordecai  Esther's  words. 

THE  GREAT  APPEAL 

13.  Then  Mordecai  commanded  to  answer  Esther,  Think  not 
with  thyself  that  thou  shalt  escape  in  the  king's  house,  more 
than  all  the  Jews. 

14.  For  if  thou  altogether  holdest  thy  peace  at  this  time, 
then  shall  there  enlargement  and  deliverance  arise  to  the  Jews 
from  another  place ;  but  thou  and  thy  father's  house  shall  be 
destroyed:  and  who  knoweth  whether  thou  art  come  to  the 
kingdom  for  such  a  time  as  this? 

15.  Then  Esther  bade  them  return  Mordecai  this  answer, 

1 6.  Go,  gather  together  all  the  Jews  that  are  present  in 
Shushan,  and  fast  ye  for  me,  and  neither  eat  nor  drink  three 
days,  night  or  day :  I  also  and  my  maidens  will  fast  likewise ; 
and  so  will  I  go  in  unto  the  king,  which  is  not  according  to  the 
law :  and  if  I  perish,  I  perish. 

17.  So  Mordecai  went  his  way,  and  did  according  to  all  that 
Esther  had  commanded  him. 


ESTHER  13 

CHAPTER  V 
THE  COURAGE  OF  ESTHER 

1.  Now  it  came  to  pass  on  the  third  day,  that  Esther  put  on 
her  royal  apparel,  and  stood  in  the  inner  court  of  the  king's 
house,  over  against  the  king's  house :  and  the  king  sat  upon 
his  royal  throne  in  the  royal  house,  over  against  the  gate  of  the 
house. 

2.  And  it  was  so,  when  the  king  saw  Esther  the  queen 
standing  in  the  court,  that  she  obtained  favour  in  his  sight : 
and  the  king  held  out  to  Esther  the  golden  sceptre  that  was  in 
his  hand.    So  Esther  drew  near,  and  touched  the  top  of  the 
sceptre. 

3.  Then  said  the  king  unto  her,  What  wilt  thou,  queen 
Esther  ?  and  what  is  thy  request  ?  it  shall  be  even  given  thee 
to  the  half  of  the  kingdom. 

4.  And  Esther  answered,  If  it  seem  good  unto  the  king,  let 
the  king  and  Haman  come  this  day  unto  the  banquet  that  I 
have  prepared  for  him. 

5.  Then  the  king  said,  Cause  Haman  to  make  haste,  that  he 
may  do  as  Esther  hath  said.    So  the  king  and  Haman  came  to 
the  banquet  that  Esther  had  prepared. 

6.  And  the  king  said  unto  Esther  at  the  banquet  of  wine, 
What  is  thy  petition  ?  and  it  shall  be  granted  thee :  and  what 
is  thy  request?  even  to  the  half  of  the  kingdom  it  shall  be 
performed. 

7.  Then  answered  Esther,  and  said,  My  petition  and  my 
request  is ; 

8.  If  I  have  found  favour  in  the  sight  of  the  king,  and  if  it 
please  the  king  to  grant  my  petition,  and  to  perform  my  request, 
let  the  king  and  Haman  come  to  the  banquet  that  I  shall  pre- 
pare for  them,  and  I  will  do  to-morrow  as  the  king  hath  said* 


I4  SHORT  STORIES 

BETWEEN  BANQUETS 

9.  Then  went  Haman  forth  that  day  joyful  and  with  a  glad 
heart :  but  when  Haman  saw  Mordecai  in  the  king's  gate,  that 
he  stood  not  up,  nor  moved  for  him,  he  was  full  of  indignation 
against  Mordecai. 

i  o.  Nevertheless  Haman  refrained  himself :  and  when  he  came 
home,  he  sent  and  called  for  his  friends,  and  Zeresh  his  wife. 

11.  And  Haman  told  them  of  the  glory  of  his  riches,  and 
the  multitude  of  his  children,  and  all  the  things  wherein  the 
king  had  promoted  him,  and  how  he  had  advanced  him  above 
the  princes  and  servants  of  the  king. 

12.  Haman  said  moreover,  Yea,  Esther  the  queen  did  let  no 
man  come  in  with  the  king  unto  the  banquet  that  she  had  pre- 
pared but  myself ;  and  to-morrow  am  I  invited  unto  her  also 
with  the  king. 

13.  Yet  all   this   availeth  me   nothing,  so   long   as  I   see 
Mordecai  the  Jew  sitting  at  the  king's  gate. 

1 4.  Then  said  Zeresh  his  wife  and  all  his  friends  unto  him, 
Let  a  gallows  be  made  of  fifty  cubits  high,  and  to-morrow 
speak   thou   unto   the   king   that   Mordecai   may   be   hanged 
thereon :  then  go  thou  in  merrily  with  the  king  unto  the  ban- 
quet.   And   the  thing  pleased  Haman ;    and   he  caused   the 
gallows  to  be  made. 

CHAPTER  VI 
BETWEEN  BANQUETS  (CONTINUED) 

1.  On  that  night  could  not  the  king  sleep,  and  he  commanded 
to  bring  the  book  of  records  of  the  chronicles ;  and  they  were 
read  before  the  king. 

2.  And  it  was  found  written,  that  Mordecai  had  told  of 
Bigthana  and  Teresh,  two  of   the   king's   chamberlains,  the 


ESTHER  15 

keepers  of  the  door,  who  sought  to  lay  hand  on  the  king 
Ahasuerus. 

3.  And  the  king  said,  What  honour  and  dignity  hath  been 
done  to  Mordecai  for  this  ?   Then  said  the  king's  servants  that 
ministered  unto  him,  There  is  nothing  done  for  him. 

4.  And  the  king  said,  Who  is  in  the  court?   Now  Haman 
was  come  into  the  outward  court  of  the  king's  house,  to  speak 
unto  the  king  to  hang  Mordecai  on  the  gallows  that  he  had 
prepared  for  him. 

5.  And  the  king's  servants  said  unto  him,  Behold,  Haman 
standeth  in  the  court.    And  the  king  said,  Let  him  come  in. 

6.  So    Haman   came    in.    And   the   king   said   unto   him, 
What  shall  be  done  unto  the  man  whom  the  king  delight- 
eth    to    honour  ?     Now    Haman    thought    in    his    heart,    To 
whom  would  the  king  delight  to  do  honour  more  than  to 
myself  ? 

7.  And  Haman  answered  the  king,  For  the  man  whom  the 
king  delighteth  to  honour, 

8.  Let  the  royal  apparel  be  brought  which  the  king  useth  to 
wear,  and  the  horse  that  the  king  rideth  upon,  and  the  crown 
royal  which  is  set  upon  his  head : 

9.  And  let  this  apparel  and  horse  be  delivered  to  the  hand 
of  one  of  the  king's  most  noble  princes,  that  they  may  array 
the  man  withal  whom  the  king  delighteth  to  honour,  and  bring 
him  on  horseback  through  the  street  of  the  city,  and  proclaim 
before  him,  Thus  shall  it  be  done  to  the  man  whom  the  king 
delighteth  to  honour. 

i  o.  Then  the  king  said  to  Haman,  Make  haste,  and  take  the 
apparel  and  the  horse,  as  thou  hast  said,  and  do  even  so  to 
Mordecai  the  Jew,  that  sitteth  at  the  king's  gate :  let  nothing 
fail  of  all  that  thou  hast  spoken. 

1 1.  Then  took  Haman  the  apparel  and  the  horse,  and  arrayed 
Mordecai,  and  brought  him  on  horseback  through  the  street  of 


16  SHORT  STORIES 

the  city,  and  proclaimed  before  him,  Thus  shall  it  be  done  unto 
the  man  whom  the  king  delighteth  to  honour. 

12.  And  Mordecai  came  again  to  the  king's  gate.  But  Haman 
hasted  to  his  house  mourning,  and  having  his  head  covered. 

13.  And  Haman  told  Zeresh  his  wife  and  all  his  friends 
every  thing  that  had  befallen  him.    Then  said  his  wise  men 
and  Zeresh  his  wife  unto  him,  If  Mordecai  be  of  the  seed  of 
the  Jews,  before  whom  thou  hast  begun  to  fall,  thou  shalt  not 
prevail  against  him,  but  shalt  surely  fall  before  him. 

14.  And  while  they  were  yet  talking  with  him,  came  the 
king's  chamberlains,   and  hasted    to  bring   Haman  unto    the 
banquet  that  Esther  had  prepared. 


CHAPTER  VII 
ESTHER'S  BANQUET:   HAMAN  HANGED 

1.  So  the  king  and  Haman  came  to  banquet  with  Esther 
the  queen. 

2.  And  the  king  said  again  unto  Esther  on  the  second  day 
at  the  banquet  of  wine,  What  is  thy  petition,  queen  Esther  ?  and 
it  shall  be  granted  thee :  and  what  is  thy  request  ?  and  it  shall 
be  performed,  even  to  the  half  of  the  kingdom. 

3.  Then  Esther  the  queen  answered  and  said,  If  I  have  found 
favour  in  thy  sight,  O  king,  and  if  it  please  the  king,  let  my 
life  be  given  me  at  my  petition,  and  my  people  at  my  request : 

4.  For  we  are  sold,  I  and  my  people,  to  be  destroyed,  to  be 
slain,  and  to  perish.    But  if  we  had  been  sold  for  bondmen  and 
bondwomen,  I  had  held  my  tongue,  although  the  enemy  could 
not  countervail  the  king's  damage. 

5.  Then  the  king  Ahasuerus  answered  and  said  unto  Esther 
the  queen,  Who  is  he,  and  where  is  he,  that  durst  presume  in 
his  heart  to  do  so  ? 


ESTHER  17 

6.  And  Esther  said,  The  adversary  and  enemy  is  this  wicked 
Haman.  Then  Haman  was  afraid  before  the  king  and  the  queen. 

7.  And  the  king  arising  from  the  banquet  of  wine  in  his  wrath 
went  into  the  palace  garden:  and  Haman  stood  up  to  make 
request  for  his  life  to  Esther  the  queen ;  for  he  saw  that  there 
was  evil  determined  against  him  by  the  king. 

8.  Then  the  king  returned  out  of  the  palace  garden  into  the 
place  of  the  banquet  of  wine ;  and  Haman  was  fallen  upon  the 
bed  whereon  Esther  was.    Then  said  the  king,  Will  he  force 
the  queen  also  before  me  in  the  house  ?   As  the  word  went  out 
of  the  king's  mouth,  they  covered  Haman's  face. 

9.  And  Harbona,  one  of  the  chamberlains,  said  before  the 
king,  Behold  also  the  gallows  fifty  cubits  high,  which  Haman 
had  made  for  Mordecai,  who  had  spoken  good  for  the  king, 
standeth  in  the  house  of  Haman.    Then  the  king  said,  Hang 
him  thereon. 

10.  So  they  hanged   Haman  on  the  gallows  that  he  had 
prepared  for  Mordecai.    Then  was  the  king's  wrath  pacified. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  JEWS  PERMITTED  TO  DEFEND  THEMSELVES 

1.  On  that  day  did  the  king  Ahasuerus  give  the  house  of 
Haman  the  Jews'  enemy  unto  Esther  the  queen.   And  Mordecai 
came  before  the  king ;  for  Esther  had  told  what  he  was  unto  her. 

2.  And  the  king  took  off  his  ring,  which  he  had  taken  from 
Haman,  and  gave  it  unto  Mordecai.    And  Esther  set  Mordecai 
over  the  house  of  Haman. 

3.  And  Esther  spake  yet  again  before  the  king,  and  fell  down 
at  his  feet,  and  besought  him  with  tears  to  put  away  the  mis- 
chief of  Haman  the  Agagite,  and  his  device  that  he  had  devised 
against  the  Jews. 


1 8  SHORT  STORIES 

4.  Then  the  king  held  out  the  golden  sceptre  toward  Esther. 
So  Esther  arose,  and  stood  before  the  king, 

5.  And  said,  If  it  please  the  king,  and  if  I  have  found  favour 
in  his  sight,  and  the  thing  seem  right  before  the  king,  and  I 
be  pleasing  in  his  eyes,  let  it  be  written  to  reverse  the  letters 
devised   by  Haman   the   son   of   Hammedatha  the  Agagite, 
which  he  wrote  to  destroy  the  Jews  which  are  in  all  the  king's 
provinces : 

6.  For  how  can  I  endure  to  see  the  evil  that  shall  come  unto 
my  people  ?  or  how  can  I  endure  to  see  the  destruction  of  my 
kindred  ? 

7.  Then  the  king  Ahasuerus  said  unto  Esther  the  queen  and 
to  Mordecai  the  Jew,  Behold,  I  have  given  Esther  the  house  of 
Haman,  and  him  they  have  hanged  upon  the  gallows,  because 
he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  Jews. 

8.  Write  ye  also  for  the  Jews,  as  it  liketh  you,  in  the  king's 
name,  and  seal  it  with  the  king's  ring :  for  the  writing  which  is 
written  in  the  king's  name,  and  sealed  with  the  king's  ring,  may 
no  man  reverse. 

9.  Then  were  the  king's  scribes  called  at  that  time  in  the 
third  month,  that  is,  the  month  Sivan,  on  the  three  and  twentieth 
day  thereof ;  and  it  was  written  according  to  all  that  Mordecai 
commanded  unto  the  Jews,  and  to  the  lieutenants,  and  the 
deputies  and  rulers  of  the  provinces  which  are  from  India  unto 
Ethiopia,  a  hundred  twenty  and  seven  provinces,  unto  every 
province  according  to  the  writing  thereof,  and  unto  every  people 
after  their  language,  and  to  the  Jews  according  to  their  writing, 
and  according  to  their  language. 

i  o.  And  he  wrote  in  the  king  Ahasuerus'  name,  and  sealed 
it  with  the  king's  ring,  and  sent  letters  by  posts  on  horseback, 
and  riders  on  mules,  camels,  and  young  dromedaries : 

ii.  Wherein  the  king  granted  the  Jews  which  were  in  every 
city  to  gather  themselves  together,  and  to  stand  for  their  life, 


ESTHER  19 

to  destroy,  to  slay,  and  to  cause  to  perish,  all  the  power  of  the 
people  and  province  that  would  assault  them,  both 'little  ones 
and  women,  and  to  take  the  spoil  of  them  for  a  prey, 

12.  Upon  one  day  in  all  the  provinces  of  king  Ahasuerus, 
namely,  upon  the  thirteenth  day  of  the  twelfth  month,  which  is 
the  month  Adar. 

13.  The  copy'  of  the  writing  for  a  commandment  to  be  given 
in  every  province  was  published  unto  all  people,  and  that  the 
Jews  should  be  ready  against  that  day  to  avenge  themselves 
on  their  enemies. 

1 4.  So  the  posts  that  rode  upon  mules  and  camels  went  out, 
being  hastened  and  pressed  on  by  the  king's  commandment 
And  the  decree  was  given  at  Shushan  the  palace. 

15.  And  Mordecai  went  out  from  the  presence  of  the  king 
in  royal  apparel  of  blue  and  white,  and  with  a  great  crown  of 
gold,  and  with  a  garment  of  fine  linen  and  purple :  and  the  city 
of  Shushan  rejoiced  and  was  glad. 

1 6.  The  Jews  had  light,  and  gladness,  and  joy,  and  honour. 

17.  And  in  every  province,  and  in  every  city,  whithersoever 
the  king's  commandment  and  his  decree  came,  the  Jews  had  joy 
and  gladness,  a  feast  and  a  good  day.    And  many  of  the  people 
of  the  land  became  Jews ;  for  the  fear  of  the  Jews  fell  upon 
them. 

CHAPTER  IX 
THE  JEWS  DEFEND  THEMSELVES 

i.  Now  in  the  twelfth  month,  that  is,  the  month  Adar,  on  the 
thirteenth  day  of  the  same,  when  the  king's  commandment  and 
his  decree  drew  near  to  be  put  in  execution,  in  the  day  that  the 
enemies  of  the  Jews  hoped  to  have  power  over  them ;  (though 
it  was  turned  to  the  contrary,  that  the  Jews  had  rule  over 
them  that  hated  them,) 


20  SHORT   STORIES 

2.  The  Jews  gathered  themselves  together  in  their  cities 
throughout  all  the  provinces  of  the  king  Ahasuerus,  to  lay  hand 
on  such  as  sought  their  hurt:   and  no  man  could  withstand 
them;  for  the  fear  of  them  fell  upon  all  people. 

3.  And  all  the  rulers  of  the  provinces,  and  the  lieutenants, 
and  the  deputies,  and  officers  of  the  king,  helped  the  Jews; 
because  the  fear  of  Mordecai  fell  upon  them. 

4.  For  Mordecai  was  great  in  the  king's  house,  and  his  fame 
went  out  throughout  all  the  provinces :  for  this  man  Mordecai 
waxed  greater  and  greater. 

5.  Thus  the  Jews  smote  all  their  enemies  with  the  stroke  of 
the  sword,  and  slaughter,  and  destruction,  and  did  what  they 
would  unto  those  that  hated  them. 

6.  And  in  Shushan  the  palace  the  Jews  slew  and  destroyed 
five  hundred  men. 

7.  And  Parshandatha,  and  Dalphon,  and  Aspatha, 

8.  And  Poratha,  and  Adalia,  and  Aridatha, 

9.  And  Parmashta,  and  Arisai,  and  Aridai,  and  Vajezatha, 

10.  The  ten  sons  of  Haman  the  son  of  Hammedatha,  the 
enemy  of  the  Jews,  slew  they;  but  on  the  spoil  laid  they  not 
their  hand. 

n.  On  that  day  the  number  of  those  that  were  slain  in 
Shushan  the  palace  was  brought  before  the  king. 

12.  And  the  king  said  unto  Esther  the  queen,  The  Jews  have 
slain  and  destroyed  five  hundred  men  in  Shushan  the  palace, 
and  the  ten  sons  of  Haman ;  what  have  they  done  in  the  rest 
of  the  king's  provinces  ?  now  what  is  thy  petition  ?  and  it  shall 
be  granted  thee :  or  what  is  thy  request  further  ?  and  it  shall 
be  done. 

13.  Then  said  Esther,  If  it  please  the  king,  let  it  be  granted 
to  the  Jews  which  are  in  Shushan  to  do  to-morrow  also  accord- 
ing unto  this  day's  decree,  and  let  Hainan's  ten  sons  be  hanged 
upon  the  gallows. 


ESTHER  21 

14.  And  the  king  commanded  it  so  to  be  done:  and  the 
decree  was  given  at  Shushan ;  and  they  hanged  Hainan's  ten 
sons. 

15.  For  the  Jews  that  were  in  Shushan  gathered  themselves 
together  on  the  fourteenth  day  also  of  the  month  Adar,  and 
slew  three  hundred  men  at  Shushan ;  but  on  the  prey  they  laid 
not  their  hand. 

1 6.  But  the  other  Jews  that  were  in  the  king's  provinces 
gathered  themselves  together,  and  stood  for  their  lives,  and  had 
rest  from  their  enemies,  and  slew  of  their  foes  seventy  and  five 
thousand,  but  they  laid  not  their  hands  on  the  prey, 

17.  On  the  thirteenth  day  of  the  month  Adar;  and  on  the 
fourteenth  day  of  the  same  rested  they,  and  made  it  a  day  of 
feasting  and  gladness. 

1 8.  But  the  Jews  that  were  at  Shushan  assembled  together 
on  the  thirteenth  day  thereof,  and  on  the  fourteenth  thereof; 
and  on  the  fifteenth  day  of  the  same  they  rested,  and  made  it 
a  day  of  feasting  and  gladness. 

19.  Therefore  the  Jews  of  the  villages,  that  dwelt  in  the 
unwalled  towns,  made  the  fourteenth  day  of  the  month  Adar 
a  day  of  gladness  and  feasting,  and  a  good  day,  and  of  sending 
portions  one  to  another. 

THE  FEAST  OF  PURIM 

20.  And  Mordecai  wrote  these  things,  and  sent  letters  unto 
all  the  Jews  that  were  in  all  the  provinces  of  the  king  Ahasuerus, 
both  nigh  and  far, 

21.  To  establish  this  among  them,  that  they  should  keep  the 
fourteenth  day  of  the  month  Adar,  and  the  fifteenth  day  of  the 
same,  yearly, 

22.  As  the  days  wherein  the  Jews  rested  from  their  enemies, 
and  the  month  which  was  turned  unto  them  from  sorrow  to  joy, 
and  from  mourning  into  a  good  day:  that  they  should  make  them 


22  SHORT  STORIES 

days  of  feasting  and  joy,  and  of  sending  portions  one  to  another, 
and  gifts  to  the  poor. 

23.  And  the  Jews  undertook  to  do  as  they  had  begun,  and 
as  Mordecai  had  written  unto  them; 

24.  Because  Haman  the  son  of  Hammedatha,  the  Agagite, 
the  enemy  of  all  the  Jews,  had  devised  against  the  Jews  to 
destroy  them,  and  had  cast  Pur,  that  is,  the  lot,  to  consume 
them,  and  to  destroy  them; 

25.  But  when  Esther  came  before  the  king,  he  commanded 
by  letters  that  his  wicked  device,  which  he  devised  against  the 
Jews,  should  return  upon  his  own  head,  and  that  he  and  his 
sons  should  be  hanged  on  the  gallows. 

26.  Wherefore  they  called  these  days  Purim  after  the  name 
of  Pur.    Therefore  for  all  the  words  of  this  letter,  and  of  that 
which  they  had  seen  concerning  this  matter,  and  which  had 
come  unto  them, 

27.  The  Jews  ordained,  and  took  upon  them,  and  upon  their 
seed,  and  upon  all  such  as  joined  themselves  unto  them,  so  as 
it  should  not  fail,  that  they  would  keep  these  two  days  accord- 
ing to  their  writing,  and  according  to  their  appointed  time  every 
year; 

28.  And  that  these  days  should  be  remembered  and  kept 
throughout  every  generation,  every  family,  every  province,  and 
every  city ;  and  that  these  days  of  Purim  should  not  fail  from 
among  the  Jews,  nor  the  memorial  of  them  perish  from  their 
seed. 

29.  Then  Esther  the  queen,  the  daughter  of  Abihail,  and 
Mordecai  the  Jew,  wrote  with  all  authority,  to  confirm  this 
second  letter  of  Purim. 

30.  And  he  sent  the  letters  unto  all  the  Jews,  to  the  hundred 
twenty  and  seven  provinces  of  the  kingdom  of  Ahasuerus, 
with  words  of  peace  and  truth, 

31.  To  confirm  these  days  of  Purim  in  their  times  appointed, 


ESTHER  23 

according  as  Mordecai  the  Jew  and  Esther  the  queen  had 
enjoined  them,  and  as  they  had  decreed  for  themselves  and 
for  their  seed,  the  matters  of  the  fastings  and  their  cry. 

32.  And  the  decree  of  Esther  confirmed  these  matters  of 
Purim;  and  it  was  written  in  the  book. 

CHAPTER  X 
MORDECAI  PRIME  MINISTER 

1.  And  the  king  Ahasuerus  laid  a  tribute  upon  the  land,  and 
upon  the  isles  of  the  sea. 

2.  And  all  the  acts  of  his  power  and  of  his  might,  and  the 
declaration  of  the  greatness  of  Mordecai,  whereunto  the  king 
advanced  him,  are  they  not  written  in  the  book  of  the  chronicles 
of  the  kings  of  Media  and  Persia  ? 

3.  For  Mordecai  the  Jew  was  next  unto  king  Ahasuerus,  and 
great  among  the  Jews,  and  accepted  of  the  multitude  of  his 
brethren,  seeking  the  wealth  of  his  people,  and  speaking  peace 
to  all  his  seed. 


II.    THE  HISTORY  OF  ALI   BABA  AND 
THE  FORTY  ROBBERS1 

AUTHOR  UNKNOWN 

{Setting.  This  story,  like  "  Esther,"  takes  place  in  Persia.  The 
stories  of  "The  Arabian  Nights  "  as  a  whole  probably  originated  in 
India,  were  modified  and  augmented  by  the  Persians,  and  had 
the  finishing  touches  put  upon  them  by  the  Arabians.  Bagdad 
on  the  Tigris  is  the  city  that  figures  most  prominently  in  the 
stories,  and  the  good  caliph  Haroun  Al-Raschid  (or  Alraschid), 
who  ruled  from  786  to  809,  A.D.,  is  the  monarch  most  often 
mentioned. 

"A  goodly  place,  a  goodly  time, 

For  it  was  in  the  golden  prime 

Of  good  Haroun  Alraschid." 

•However  old  the  germs  of  the  stories  are,  the  form  in  which 
we  have  them  hardly  antedates  the  year  1450.  The  absence  of 
all  mention  of  coffee  and  tobacco  precludes,  at  least,  a  date 
much  later.  They  began  to  be  translated  into  the  languages  of 
Europe  during  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne  and,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  Old  Testament,  have  been  the  chief  orientalizing 
influence  in  modern  literature.  The  setting  of  "Ali  Baba" 
shows  the  four  characteristics  of  all  these  Perso- Arabian  tales : 
it  has  to  do  with  town  life,  not  country  life ;  it  presupposes  one 
faith,  the  Mohammedan ;  it  shows  a  fondness  for  magic ;  and 
it  takes  for  granted  an  audience  interested  not  in  moral  or 
ethical  distinctions  but  in  story-telling  for  story-telling's  sake. 

1  From  "  The  Arabian  Nights." 
24 


ALI  BABA  AND  THE  FORTY  ROBBERS     25 

Plot.  The  plot  of  the  short  story  as  a  distinct  type  of  litera- 
ture has  been  said  to  show  a  steady  progress  from  the  impos- 
sible through  the  improbable  and  probable  to  the  inevitable. 
When  we  say  of  a  story  that  the  conclusion  is  inevitable  we 
mean  that,  with  the  given  background  and  characters,  it  could 
not  have  ended  in  any  other  way,  just  as,  with  a  given  multiplier 
and  multiplicand,  one  product  and  only  one  is  possible.  This 
cannot  be  said  of  "  AH  Baba,"  because  the  five  parts  are  not 
linked  together  in  a  logical  sequence  as  are  the  events  in  "  The 
Gold- Bug,"  or  by  any  controlling  idea  of  reform  such  as  we 
find  in  "  A  Christmas  Carol,"  or  by  any  underlying  moral  pur- 
pose like  that  which  gives  unity  and  dignity  to  "  The  Great 
Stone  Face."  These  Perso- Arabian  tales,  in  other  words,  are 
stories  of  random  incident,  loosely  but  charmingly  told,  with 
always  the  note  of  strangeness  and  unexpectedness.  The  inci- 
dents, however,  reflect  accurately  the  manners  and  customs  of 
time  and  place.  We  do  not  believe  that  a  door  ever  opened  to 
the  magic  of  mere  words,  but  we  do  believe  and  cannot  help 
believing  that  the  author  tells  the  truth  when  he  writes  of  leather 
jars  full  of  oil,  of  bands  of  mounted  robbers,  of  a  poor  man  who 
could  support  himself  by  hauling  wood  from  the  free-for-3.1] 
forest,  of  slavery  from  which  one  might  escape  by  notable  fidel- 
ity, of  funeral  rites  performed  by  the  imaum  and  other  ministers 
of  the  mosque,  and  of  the  unwillingness  of  an  assassin  to  attempt 
the  life  of  a  man  with  whom  he  had  just  eaten  salt.  Fancy,  it 
is  true,  mingles  with  fact  in  "  The  Arabian  Nights,"  but  it  does  not 
replace  fact. 

Characters.  Morgiana  is  the  leading  character.  She  furnishes 
all  the  brains  employed  in  the  story.  The  narrator  praises  her 
"courage"  twice,  but  she  had  more  than  courage.  Fidelity, 
initiative,  and  resourcefulness  must  also  be  put  among  her 
assets.  We  can  hardly  imagine  her  as  acting  from  .Esther's  high 
motive,  but  she  lived  up  to  the  best  standards  of  conduct  that 
she  knew.  Whoever  serves  as  a  model  for  his  own  time  may 
serve  as  a  model  for  ours.  Duties  change,  but  duty  remains.] 


26  SHORT  STORIES 

I 

CASSIM,  ALI  BABA'S  BROTHER,  DISCOVERED  AND 
KILLED  BY  THE  ROBBERS 

There  once  lived  in  a  town  of  Persia  two  brothers,  one 
named  Cassim  and  the  other  Ali  Baba.  Their  father  divided  his 
small  property  equally  between  them.  Cassim  married  a  very 
rich  wife,  and  became  a  wealthy  merchant.  Ali  Baba  married 
a  woman  as  poor  as  himself,  and  lived  by  cutting  wood  and 
bringing  it  upon  three  asses  into  the  town  to  sell. 

One  day,  when  Ali  Baba  had  cut  just  enough  wood  in  the 
forest  to  load  his  asses,  he  noticed  far  off  a  great  cloud  of  dust. 
As  it  drew  nearer,  he  saw  that  it  was  made  by  a  body  of  horse- 
men, whom  he  suspected  to  be  robbers.  Leaving  the  asses, 
he  climbed  a  large  tree  which  grew  on  a  high  rock,  and  had 
branches  thick  enough  to  hide  him  completely  while  he  saw 
what  passed  beneath.  The  troop,  forty  in  number,  all  well 
mounted  and  armed,  came  to  the  foot  of  the  rock  on  which 
the  tree  stood,  and  there  dismounted.  Each  man  unbridled  his 
horse,  tied  him  to  a  shrub,  and  hung  about  his  neck  a  bag  of 
corn.  Then  each  of  them  took  off  his  saddle-bag,  which  from 
its  weight  seemed  to  Ali  Baba  full  of  gold  and  silver.  One, 
whom  he  took  to  be  their  captain,  came  under  the  tree  in  which 
Ali  Baba  was  concealed ;  and,  making  his  way  through  some 
shrubs,  spoke  the  words :  "  Open,  Sesame." l  As  soon  as  the 
captain  of  the  robbers  said  this,  a  door  opened  in  the  rock,  and 
after  he  had  made  all  his  troop  enter  before  him,  he  followed 
them,  when  the  door  shut  again  of  itself. 

The  robbers  stayed  some  time  within,  and  Ali  Baba,  fearful 
of  being  caught,  remained  in  the  tree.  At  last  the  door  opened 
again,  and  the  captain  came  out  first,  and  stood  to  see  all  the 

1  Sesame  (pronounced  shsamy],  a  small  grain. 


ALI  BABA  AND  THE  FORTY  ROBBERS     27 

troop  pass  by  him.  Then  All  Baba  heard  him  make  the  door 
close  by  saying:  "Shut,  Sesame."  Every  .man  at  once  bridled 
his  horse,  fastened  his  wallet,  and  mounted  again.  When  the 
captain  saw  them  all  ready,  he  put  himself  at  their  head,  and 
they  returned  the  way  they  had  come. 

Ali  Baba  watched  them  out  of  sight,  and  then  waited  some 
time  before  coming  down.  Wishing  to  see  whether  the  captain's 
words  would  have  the  same  effect  if  he  should  speak  them,  he 
found  the  door  hidden  in  the  shrubs,  stood  before  it,  and  said : 
"  Open,  Sesame."  Instantly  the  door  flew  wide  open. 

Instead  of  a  dark,  dismal  cavern,  Ali  Baba  was  surprised  to 
see  a  large  chamber,  well  lighted  from  the  top,  and  in  it  all 
sorts  of  provisions,  rich  bales  of  silk,  brocade  and  carpeting, 
gold  and  silver  ingots  in  great  heaps,  and  money  in  bags. 

Ali  Baba  went  boldly  into  the  cave,  and  collected  as  much 
of  the  gold  coin,  which  was  in  bags,  as  he  thought  his  asses 
could  carry.  When  he  had  loaded  them  with  the  bags,  he  laid 
wood  over  them  so  that  they  could  not  be  seen,  and,  passing 
out  of  the  door  for  the  last  time,  stood  before  it  and  said: 
"  Shut,  Sesame."  The  door  closed  of  itself,  and  he  made  the 
best  of  his  way  to  town. 

When  he  reached  home,  he  carefully  closed  the  gate  of  his 
little  yard,  threw  off  the  wood,  and  carried  the  bags  into  the 
house.  They  were  emptied  before  his  wife,  and  the  great  heap 
of  gold  dazzled  her  eyes.  Then  he  told  her  the  whole  adventure, 
and  warned  her,  above  all  things,  to  keep  it  secret. 

Ali  Baba  would  not  let  her  take  the  time  to  count  it  out  as 
she  wished,  but  said :  "  I  will  dig  a  hole  and  bury  it." 

"  But  let  us  know  as  nearly  as  may  be,"  she  said,  "  how 
much  we  have.  I  will  borrow  a  small  measure,  and  measure  it, 
while  you  dig  a  hole." 

Away  she  ran  to  the  wife  of  Cassim,  who  lived  near  by,  and 
asked  for  a  measure.  The  sister-in-law,  knowing  Ali  Baba's 


28  SHORT   STORIES 

poverty,  was  curious  to  learn  what  sort  of  grain  his  wife  wished 
to  measure  out,  and.  artfully  managed  to  put  some  suet  in  the 
bottom  of  the  measure  before  she  handed  it  over.  Ali  Baba's 
wife  wanted  to  show  how  careful  she  was  in  small  matters,  and, 
after  she  had  measured  the  gold,  hurried  back,  even  while  her 
husband  was  burying  it,  with  the  borrowed  measure,  never 
noticing  that  a  coin  had  stuck  to  its  bottom. 

"  What,"  said  Cassim's  wife,  as  soon  as  her  sister-in-law  had 
left  her,  "  has  Ali  Baba  gold  in  such  plenty  that  he  measures 
it  ?  Whence  has  he  all  this  wealth  ? "  And  envy  possessed  her 
breast. 

When  Cassim  came  home,  she  said  to  him :  "  Cassim,  you 
think  yourself  rich,  but  Ali  Baba  is  much  richer.  He  does  not 
count  his  money ;  he  measures  it."  Then  she  explained  to  him 
how  she  had  found  it  out,  and  they  looked  together  at  the  piece 
of  money,  which  was  so  old  that  they  could  not  tell  in  what 
prince's  reign  it  was  coined. 

Cassim,  since  marrying  the  rich  widow,  had  never  treated 
Ali  Baba  as  a  brother,  but  neglected  him.  Now,  instead  of  be- 
ing pleased,  he  was  filled  with  a  base  envy.  Early  in  the  morn- 
ing, after  a  sleepless  night,  he  went  to  him  and  said :  "  Ali 
Baba,  you  pretend  to  be  wretchedly  poor,  and  yet  you  measure 
gold.  My  wife  found  this  at  the  bottom  of  the  measure  you 
borrowed  yesterday." 

Ali  Baba  saw  that  there  was  no  use  of  trying  to  conceal  his 
good  fortune,  and  told  the  whole  story,  offering  his  brother 
part  of  the  treasure  to  keep  the  secret. 

"  I  expect  as  much,"  replied  Cassim  haughtily ;  "  but  I  must 
know  just  where  this  treasure  is  and  how  to  visit  it  myself 
when  I  choose.  Otherwise  I  will  inform  against  you,  and  you 
will  lose  even  what  you  have  now." 

Ali  Baba  told  him  all  he  wished  to  know,  even  to  the  words 
he  must  speak  at  the  door  of  the  cave. 


ALI  BABA  AND  THE  FORTY  ROBBERS     29 

Cassim  rose  before  the  sun  the  next  morning,  and  set  out 
for  the  forest  with  ten  mules  bearing  great  chests  which  he 
meant  to  fill.  With  little  trouble  he  found  the  rock  and  the 
door,  and,  standing  before  it,  spoke  the  words:  "Open,  Sesame." 
The  door  opened  at  once,  and  when  he  was  within  closed  upon 
him.  Here  indeed  were  the  riches  of  which  his  brother  had 
told.  He  quickly  brought  as  many  bags  of  gold  as  he  could 
carry  to  the  door  of  the  cavern ;  but  his  thoughts  were  so  full 
of  his  new  wealth,  that  he  could  not  think  of  the  word  that 
should  let  him  out.  Instead  of  "  Sesame,"  he  said  "  Open, 
Barley,"  and  was  much  amazed  to  find  that  the  door  remained 
fast  shut.  He  named  several  sorts  of  grain,  but  still  the  door 
would  not  open. 

Cassim  had  never  expected  such  a  disaster,  and  was  so 
frightened  that  the  more  he  tried  to  recall  the  word  "  Sesame," 
the  more  confused  his  mind  became.  It  was  as  if  he  had  never 
heard  the  word  at  all.  He  threw  down  the  bags  in  his  hands, 
and  walked  wildly  up  and  down,  without  a  thought  of  the  riches 
lying  round  about  him. 

At  noon  the  robbers  visited  their  cave.  From  afar  they  saw 
Cassim's  mules  straggling  about  the  rock,  and  galloped  full 
speed  to  the  cave.  Driving  the  mules  out  of  sight,  they  went 
at  once,  with  their  naked  sabres  in  their  hands,  to  the  door, 
which  opened  as  soon  as  the  captain  had  spoken  the  proper 
words  before  it. 

Cassim  had  heard  the  noise  of  the  horses'  feet,  and  guessed 
that  the  robbers  had  come.  He  resolved  to  make  one  effort  for 
his  life.  As  soon  as  the  door  opened,  he  rushed  out  and  threw 
the  leader  down,  but  could  not  pass  the  other  robbers,  who 
with  their  scimitars  soon  put  him  to  death. 

The  first  care  of  the  robbers  was  to  examine  the  cave.  They 
found  all  the  bags  Cassim  had  brought  to  the  door,  but  did  not 
miss  what  Ali  Baba  had  taken.  As  for  Cassim  himself,  they 


30  SHORT   STORIES 

guessed  rightly  that,  once  within,  he  could  not  get  out  again ; 
but  how  he  had  managed  to  learn  their  secret  words  that  let 
him  in,  they  could  not  tell.  One  thing  was  certain,  —  there  he 
was ;  and  to  warn  all  others  who  might  know  their  secret  and 
follow  in  Cassim's  footsteps,  they  agreed  to  cut  his  body  into 
four  quarters  —  to  hang  two  on  one  side  and  two  on  the  other, 
within  the  door  of  the  cave.  This  they  did  at  once,  and  leaving 
the  place  of  their  hoards  well  closed,  mounted  their  horses  and 
set  out  to  attack  the  caravans  they  might  meet. 

II 
THE  MANNER  OF  CASSIM'S  DEATH  CONCEALED 

When  night  came,  and  Cassim  did  not  return,  his  wife  be- 
came very  uneasy.  She  ran  to  AH  Baba  for  comfort,  and  he 
told  her  that  Cassim  would  certainly  think  it  unwise  to  enter 
the  town  till  night  was  well  advanced.  By  midnight  Cassim's 
wife  was  still  more  alarmed,  and  wept  till  morning,  cursing  her 
desire  to  pry  into  the  affairs  of  her  brother  and  sister-in-law. 
In  the  early  day  she  went  again,  in  tears,  to  Ali  Baba. 

He  did  not  wait  for  her  to  ask  him  to  go  and  see  what  had 
happened  to  Cassim,  but  set  out  at  once  for  the  forest  with  his 
three  asses.  Finding  some  blood  at  the  door  of  the  cave,  he 
took  it  for  an  ill  omen  ;  but  when  he  had  spoken  the  words,  and 
the  door  had  opened,  he  was  struck  with  horror  at  the  dismal 
sight  of  his  brother's  body.  He  could  not  leave  it  there,  and 
hastened  within  to  find  something  to  wrap  around  it.  Laying 
the  body  on  one  of  his  asses,  he  covered  it  with  wood.  The 
other  two  asses  he  loaded  with  bags  of  gold,  covering  them  also 
with  wood  as  before.  Then  bidding  the  door  shut,  he  came 
away,  but  stopped  some  time,  at  the  edge  of  the  forest,  that  he 
might  not  go  into  the  town  before  night.  When  he  reached 
home  he  left  the  two  asses,  laden  with  gold,  in  his  little  yard 


ALI  BABA  AND  THE  FORTY  ROBBERS     31 

for  his  wife  to  unload,  and  led  the  other  to  his  sister-in-law's 
house. 

All  Baba  knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  opened  by  Morgi- 
ana,  a  clever  slave,  full  of  devices  to  conquer  difficulties.  When 
he  came  into  the  court  and  unloaded  the  ass,  he  took  Morgiana 
aside,  and  said  to  her :  — 

"  You  must  observe  a  strict  secrecy.  Your  master's  body  is 
contained  in  these  two  panniers.  We  must  bury  him  as  if  he 
had  died  a  natural  death.  Go  now  and  tell  your  mistress.  I 
leave  the  matter  to  your  wit  and  skillful  devices." 

They  placed  the  body  in  Cassim's  house,  and,  charging 
Morgiana  to  act  well  her  part,  Ali  Baba  returned  home  with 
his  ass. 

Early  the  next  morning,  Morgiana  went  to  a  druggist,  and 
asked  for  a  sort  of  lozenge  used  in  the  most  dangerous  illness. 
When  he  asked  her  for  whom  she  wanted  it,  she  answered  with 
a  sigh :  "  My  good  master  Cassim.  He  can  neither  eat  nor 
speak."  In  the  evening  she  went  to  the  same  druggist,  and 
with  tears  in  her  eyes  asked  for  an  essence  given  to  sick  per- 
sons for  whose  life  there  is  little  hope.  "Alas  I  "  said  she,  "  I 
am  afraid  even  this  will  not  save  my  good  master." 

All  that  day  Ali  Baba  and  his  wife  were  seen  going  sadly 
between  their  house  and  Cassim's,  and  in  the  evening  nobody 
was  surprised  to  hear  the  shrieks  and  cries  of  Cassim's  wife 
and  Morgiana,  who  told  everybody  that  her  master  was  dead. 

The  next  morning  at  daybreak  she  went  to  an  old  cobbler, 
who  was  always  early  at  work,  and,  putting  a  piece  of  gold  in 
his  hand,  said  :  — 

"  Baba  Mustapha,  you  must  bring  your  sewing-tackle  and 
come  with  me ;  but  I  must  tell  you,  I  shall  blindfold  you  when 
we  reach  a  certain  place." 

"  Oh !  oh  !  "  replied  he,  "  you  would  have  me  do  something 
against  my  conscience  or  my  honor." 


32  SHORT  STORIES 

"  God  forbid  !  "  said  Morgiana,  putting  another  piece  of  gold 
in  his  hand ;  "  only  come  along  with  me,  and  fear  nothing." 

Baba  Mustapha  went  with  Morgiana,  and  at  a  certain  place 
she  bound  his  eyes  with  a  handkerchief,  which  she  never  un- 
loosed till  they  had  entered  the  room  of  her  master's  house, 
where  she  had  put  the  corpse  together. 

"  Baba  Mustapha,"  said  she,  "  you  must  make  haste,  and 
sew  the  parts  of  this  body  together,  and  when  you  have  done, 
I  will  give  you  another  piece  of  gold." 

After  Baba  Mustapha  had  finished  his  task,  she  blindfolded 
him  again,  gave  him  the  third  piece  of  gold  she  had  promised, 
and,  charging  him  with  secrecy,  took  him  back  to  the  place 
where  she  had  first  bound  his  eyes.  Taking  off  the  bandage, 
she  watched  him  till  he  was  out  of  sight,  lest  he  should  return 
and  dog  her ;  then  she  went  home. 

At  Cassim's  house  she  made  all  things  ready  for  the  funeral, 
which  was  duly  performed  by  the  imaum 1  and  other  ministers 
of  the  mosque.  Morgiana,  as  a  slave  of  the  dead  man,  walked 
in  the  procession,  weeping,  beating  her  breast,  and  tearing  her 
hair.  Cassim's  wife  stayed  at  home,  uttering  doleful  cries  with 
the  women  of  the  neighborhood,  who,  according  to  custom, 
came  to  mourn  with  her.  The  whole  quarter  was  filled  with 
sounds  of  sorrow. 

Thus  the  manner  of  Cassim's  death  was  hushed  up,  and,  be- 
sides his  widow,  Ali  Baba,  and  Morgiana,  the  slave,  nobody  in 
the  city  suspected  the  cause  of  it.  Three  or  four  days  after  the 
funeral,  Ali  Baba  removed  his  few  goods  openly  to  his  sister-in- 
law's  house,  in  which  he  was  to  live  in  the  future ;  but  the 
money  he  had  taken  from  the  robbers  was  carried  thither  by 
night.  As  for  Cassim's  warehouse,  Ali  Baba  put  it  entirely 
under  the  charge  of  his  eldest  son. 

1  Imaum,  a  Mohammedan  priest. 


ALI  BABA  AND  THE  FORTY  ROBBERS  33 

III 
THE  ROBBERS'  PLOT  FOILED  BY  MORGIANA 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  the  forty  robbers  again  visited 
their  cave  in  the  forest.  Great  was  their  surprise  to  find 
Cassim's  body  taken  away,  with  some  of  their  bags  of  gold. 

"  We  are  certainly  found  out,"  said  the  captain ;  "  the  body 
and  the  money  have  been  taken  by  some  one  else  who  knows 
our  secret.  For  our  own  lives'  sake,  we  must  try  and  find  him. 
What  say  you,  my  lads  ?  " 

The  robbers  all  agreed  that  this  must  be  done. 

"  Well,"' said  the  captain,  "  one  of  you,  the  boldest  and  most 
skillful,  must  go  to  the  town,  disguised  as  a  stranger,  and  try 
if  he  can  hear  any  talk  of  the  man  we  killed,  and  find  out 
where  he  lived.  This  matter  is  so  important  that  the  man  who 
undertakes  it  and  fails  should  suffer  death.  What  say  you  ?  " 

One  of  the  robbers,  without  waiting  to  know  what  the  rest 
might  think,  started  up,  and  said :  "  I  submit  to  this  condition, 
and  think  it  an  honor  to  expose  my  life  to  serve  the  troop." 

This  won  great  praise  from  the  robber's  comrades,  and  he 
disguised  himself  at  once  so  that  nobody  could  take  him  for 
what  he  was.  Just  at  daybreak  he  entered  the  town,  and 
walked  up  and  down  till  he  came  by  chance  to  Baba  Mustapha's 
stall,  which  was  always  open  before  any  of  the  shops. 

The  old  cobbler  was  just  going  to  work  when  the  robber 
bade  him  good-morrow,  and  said :  — 

"  Honest  man,  you  begin  to  work  very  early ;  how  can  one 
of  your  age  see  so  well?  Even  if  it  were  lighter,  I  question 
whether  you  could  see  to  stitch." 

"  You  do  not  know  me,"  replied  Baba  Mustapha ;  "  for  old 
as  I  am  I  have  excellent  eyes.  You  will  not  doubt  me  when  I 
tell  you  that  I  sewed  the  body  of  a  dead  man  together  in  a 
place  where  I  had  not  so  much  light  as  I  have  now." 


34  SHORT   STORIES 

"  A  dead  body  1 "  exclaimed  the  robber  amazed. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  answered  Baba  Mustapha ;  "  I  see  you  want  to 
know  more,  but  you  shall  not" 

The  robber  felt  sure  that  he  was  on  the  right  track.  He  put  a 
piece  of  gold  into  Baba  Mustapha's  hand,  and  said  to  him :  — 

"I  do  not  want  to  learn  your  secret,  though  you  could  safely 
trust  me  with  it.  The  only  thing  I  ask  of  you  is  to  show  me 
the  house  where  you  stitched  up  the  dead  body." 

"  I  could  not  do  that,"  replied  Baba  Mustapha,  "  if  I  would. 
I  was  taken  to  a  certain  place,  whence  I  was  led  blindfold  to  the 
house,  and  afterwards  brought  back  again  in  the  same  manner." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  robber,  "  you  may  remember  a  little  of 
the  way  that  you  were  led  blindfold.  Come,  let  me  blind  your 
eyes  at  the  same  place.  We  will  walk  together,  and  perhaps  you 
may  recall  the  way.  Here  is  another  piece  of  gold  for  you." 

This  was  enough  to  bring  Baba  Mustapha  to  his  feet.  They 
soon  reached  the  place  where  Morgiana  had  bandaged  his  eyes, 
and  here  he  was  blindfolded  again.  Baba  Mustapha  and  the 
robber  walked  on  till  they  came  to  Cassim's  house,  where  Ali 
Baba  now  lived.  Here  the  old  man  stopped,  and  when  the 
thief  pulled  off  the  band,  and  found  that  his  guide  could  not 
tell  him  whose  house  it  was,  he  let  him  go.  But  before  he 
started  back  for  the  forest  himself,  well  pleased  with  what  he 
had  learned,  he  marked  the  door  with  a  piece  of  chalk  which 
he  had  ready  in  his  hand. 

Soon  after  this  Morgiana  came  out  upon  some  errand,  and 
when  she  returned  she  saw  the  mark  the  robber  had  made, 
and  stopped  to  look  at  it. 

"  What  can  this  mean  ? "  she  said  to  herself.  "  Somebody 
intends  my  master  harm,  and  in  any  case  it  is  best  to  guard 
against  the  worst."  Then  she  fetched  a  piece  of  chalk,  and 
marked  two  or  three  doors  on  each  side  in  the  same  manner, 
saying  nothing  to  her  master  or  mistress. 


ALI  BABA  AND  THE  FORTY  ROBBERS     35 

When  the  robber  rejoined  his  troop  in  the  forest,  and  told  of 
his  good  fortune  in  meeting  the  one  man  that  could  have  helped 
him,  they  were  all  delighted. 

"  Comrades,"  said  the  captain,  "  we  have  no  time  to  lose. 
Let  us  set  off  at  once,  well  armed  and  disguised,  enter  the  town 
by  twos,  and  join  at  the  great  square.  Meanwhile  our  comrade 
who  has  brought  us  the  good  news  and  I  will  go  and  find  out 
the  house,  and  decide  what  had  best  be  done." 

Two  by  two  they  entered  the  town.  Last  of  all  went  the 
captain  and  the  spy.  When  they  came  to  the  first  of  the  houses 
which  Morgiana  had  marked,  the  spy  pointed  it  out.  But  the 
captain  noticed  that  the  next  door  was  chalked  in  the  same 
manner,  and  asked  his  guide  which  house  it  was,  that  or  the 
first.  The  guide  knew  not  what  answer  to  make,  and  was  still 
more  puzzled  when  he  and  the  captain  saw  five  or  six  houses 
marked  after  this  same  fashion.  He  assured  the  captain,  with 
an  oath,  that  he  had  marked  but  one,  and  could  not  tell  who 
had  chalked  the  rest,  nor  could  he  say  at  which  house  the 
cobbler  had  stopped. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  join  the  other  robbers,  and 
tell  them  to  go  back  to  the  cave.  Here  they  were  told  why 
they  had  all  returned,  and  the  guide  was  declared  by  all  to  be 
worthy  of  death.  Indeed,  he  condemned  himself,  owning  that 
he  ought  to  have  been  more  careful,  and  prepared  to  receive 
the  stroke  which  was  to  cut  off  his  head. 

The  safety  of  the  troop  still  demanded  that  the  second  comer 
to  the  cave  should  be  found,  and  another  of  the  gang  offered 
to  try  it,  with  the  same  penalty  if  he  should  fail.  Like  the  other 
robber,  he  found  out  Baba  Mustapha,  and,  through  him,  the 
house,  which  he  marked,  in  a  place  remote  from  sight,  with  red 
chalk. 

But  nothing  could  escape  Morgiana's  eyes,  and  when  she 
went  out,  not  long  after,  and  saw  the  red  chalk,  she  argued 


36  SHORT   STORIES 

with  herself  as  before,  and  marked  the  other  houses  near  by  in 
the  same  place  and  manner. 

The  robber,  when  he  told  his  comrades  what  he  had  done, 
prided  himself  on  his  carefulness,  and  the  captain  and  all  the 
troop  thought  they  must  succeed  this  time.  Again  they  entered 
the  town  by  twos ;  but  when  the  robber  and  his  captain  came 
to  the  street,  they  found  the  same  trouble.  The  captain  was 
enraged,  and  the  robber  as  much  confused  as  the  former  guide 
had  been.  Thus  the  captain  and  his  troop  went  back  again  to 
the  cave,  and  the  robber  who  had  failed  willingly  gave  himself 
up  to  death. 

IV 

THE  ROBBERS,  EXCEPT  THE  CAPTAIN,  DISCOVERED 
AND  KILLED  BY  MORGIANA 

The  captain  could  not  afford  to  lose  any  more  of  his  brave 
fellows,  and  decided  to  take  upon  himself  the  task  in  which  two 
had  failed.  Like  the  others,  he  went  to  Baba  Mustapha,  and 
was  shown  the  house.  Unlike  them  he  put  no  mark  on  it,  but 
studied  it  carefully  and  passed  it  so  often  that  he  could  not 
possibly  mistake  it. 

When  he  returned  to  the  troop,  who  were  waiting  for  him  in 
the  cave,  he  said  :  — 

"  Now,  comrades,  nothing  can  prevent  our  full  revenge,  as  I 
am  certain  of  the  house.  As  I  returned  I  thought  of  a  way  to 
do  our  work,  but  if  any  one  thinks  of  a  better,  let  him  speak." 

He  told  them  his  plan,  and,  as  they  thought  it  good,  he 
ordered  them  to  go  into  the  villages  about,  and  buy  nineteen 
mules,  with  thirty-eight  large  leather  jars,  one  full  of  oil,  and 
the  others  empty.  Within  two  or  three  days  they  returned  with 
the  mules  and  the  jars,  and  as  the  mouths  of  the  jars  were 
rather  too  narrow  for  the  captain's  purpose,  he  caused  them  to 


ALI  BABA  AND  THE  FORTY  ROBBERS     37 

be  widened.  Having  put  one  of  his  men  into  each  jar,  with  the 
weapons  which  he  thought  fit,  and  having  a  seam  wide  enough 
open  for  each  man  to  breathe,  he  rubbed  the  jars  on  the  outside 
with  oil  from  the  full  vessel. 

Thus  prepared  they  set  out  for  the  town,  the  nineteen  mules 
loaded  with  the  thirty-seven  robbers  in  jars,  and  the  jar  of  oil, 
with  the  captain  as  their  driver.  When  he  reached  Ali  Baba's 
door,  he  found  Ali  Baba  sitting  there  taking  a  little  fresh  air 
after  his  supper.  The  captain  stopped  his  mules,  and  said :  — 

"  I  have  brought  some  oil  a  great  way  to  sell  at  to-morrow's 
market ;  and  it  is  now  so  late  that  I  do  not  know  where  to  lodge. 
Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  let  me  pass  the  night  with  you  ?" 

Though  Ali  Baba  had  seen  the  captain  in  the  forest,  and  had 
heard  him  speak,  he  could  not  know  him  in  the  disguise  of  an 
oil-merchant,  and  bade  him  welcome.  He  opened  his  gates  for 
the  mules  to  go  into  the  yard,  and  ordered  a  slave  to  put  them 
in  a  stable  and  feed  them  when  they  were  unloaded,  and  then 
called  Morgiana  to  get  a  good  supper  for  his  guest.  After 
supper  he  charged  her  afresh  to  take  good  care  of  the  stranger, 
and  said  to  her :  — 

"  To-morrow  morning  I  intend  to  go  to  the  bath  before  day ; 
take  care  to  have  my  bathing  linen  ready ;  give  it  to  Abdalla  " 
(which  was  his  slave's  name),  "  and  make  me  some  good  broth 
against  my  return."  After  this  he  went  to  bed. 

In  the  mean  time  the  captain  of  the  robbers  went  into  the 
yard,  and  took  off  the  lid  of  each  jar,  and  told  his  people  what 
they  must  do.  To  each,  in  turn,  he  said :  — 

"  As  soon  as  I  throw  some  stones  out  of  the  chamber  win- 
dow where  I  lie,  do  not  fail  to  come  out,  and  I  will  join  you 
at  once." 

Then  he  went  into  the  house,  and  Morgiana  showed  him 
his  chamber,  where  he  soon  put  out  the  light,  and  laid  himself 
down  in  his  clothes. 


38  SHORT  STORIES 

To  carry  out  All  Baba's  orders,  Morgiana  got  his  bathing  linen 
ready,  and  bade  Abdalla  to  set  on  the  pot  for  the  broth ;  but 
soon  the  lamp  went  out,  and  there  was  no  more  oil  in  the  house, 
nor  any  candles.  She  knew  not  what  to  do,  till  the  slave 
reminded  her  of  the  oil-jars  in  the  yard.  She  thanked  him  for 
the  thought,  took  the  oil-pot,  and  went  out.  When  she  came 
nigh  the  first  jar,  the  robber  within  said  softly :  "  Is  it  time  ? " 

Of  course  she  was  surprised  to  find  a  man  in  the  jar  instead 
of  the  oil,  but  she  saw  at  once  that  she  must  keep  silence,  as 
Ali  Baba,  his  family,  and  she  herself  were  in  great  danger. 
Therefore  she  answered,  without  showing  any  fear :  "  Not  yet, 
but  presently."  In  this  manner  she  went  to  all  the  jars  and 
gave  the  same  answers,  till  she  came  to  the  jar  of  oil. 

By  this  means  Morgiana  found  that  her  master  had  admitted 
to  his  house  thirty-eight  robbers,  of  whom  the  pretended  oil- 
merchant,  their  captain,  was  one.  She  made  what  haste  she 
could  to  fill  her  oil-pot,  and  returned  to  her  kitchen,  lighted  her 
lamp,  and  taking  a  great  kettle  went  back  to  the  oil-jar  and  filled 
it.  Then  she  set  the  kettle  on  a  large  wood  fire,  and  as  soon  as 
it  boiled  went  and  poured  enough  into  every  jar  to  stifle  and 
destroy  the  robber  within. 

When  this  deed,  worthy  of  the  courage  of  Morgiana,  was 
done  without  any  noise,  as  she  had  planned,  she  returned  to  the 
kitchen  with  the  empty  kettle,  put  out  the  lamp,  and  left  just 
enough  of  the  fire  to  make  the  broth.  Then  she  sat  silent, 
resolving  not  to  go  to  rest  till  she  had  seen  through  the  window 
that  opened  on  the  yard  whatever  might  happen  there. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  captain  of  the  robbers  got  up,  and, 
seeing  that  all  was  dark  and  quiet,  gave  the  appointed  signal  by 
throwing  little  stones,  some  of  which  hit  the  jars,  as  he  doubted 
not  by  the  sound  they  gave.  As  there  was  no  response,  he 
threw  stones  a  second  and  a  third  time,  and  could  not  imagine 
why  there  was  no  answer  to  his  signal. 


ALI  BABA  AND  THE  FORTY  ROBBERS     39 

Much  alarmed,  he  went  softly  down  into  the  yard,  and,  going 
to  the  first  jar  to  ask  the  robber  if  he  was  ready,  smelt  the  hot 
boiled  oil,  which  sent  forth  a  steam  out  of  the  jar.  From  this 
he  suspected  that  his  plot  was  found  out,  and,  looking  into  the 
jars  one  by  one,  he  found  that  all  his  gang  were  dead.  Enraged 
to  despair,  he  forced  the  lock  of  a  door  that  led  from  the  yard 
to  the  garden,  and  made  his  escape.  When  Morgiana  saw  him 
go,  she  went  to  bed,  well  pleased  that  she  had  saved  her  master 
and  his  family. 

Ali  Baba  rose  before  day,  and  went  to  the  baths  without 
knowing  of  what  had  happened  in  the  night.  When  he  returned 
he  was  very  much  surprised  to  see  the  oil-jars  in  the  yard  and 
the  mules  in  the  stable. 

"  God  preserve  you  and  all  your  family,"  said  Morgiana  when 
she  was  asked  what  it  meant ;  "  you  will  know  better  when  you 
have  seen  what  I  have  to  show  you." 

'  So  saying  she  led  him  to  the  first  jar,  and  asked  him  to  see 
if  there  was  any  oil.  When  he  saw  a  man  instead,  he  started 
back  in  alarm. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,"  said  Morgiana ;  "he  can  do  neither  you 
nor  anybody  else  the  least  harm.  He  is  dead.  Now  look  into 
all  the  other  jars." 

Ali  Baba  was  more  and  more  amazed  as  he  went  on,  and 
saw  all  the  dead  men  and  the  sunken  oil-jar  at  the  end. 
He  stood  looking  from  the  jars  to  Morgiana,  till  he  found 
words  to  ask:  "And  what  is  become  of  the  merchant?" 
'  "  Merchant  1 "  answered  she ;  "  he  is  as  much  one  as 
I  am." 

Then  she  led  him  into  the  house,  and  told  of  all  that  she 
had  done,  from  the  first  noticing  of  the  chalk-mark  to  the 
death  of  the  robbers  and  the  flight  of  their  captain.  On  hear- 
ing of  these  brave  deeds  from  Morgiana's  own  lips,  Ali  Baba 
said  to  her:  — 


4o  SHORT  STORIES 

"  God,  by  your  means,  has  delivered  me  from  death.  For  the 
first  token  of  what  I  owe  you,  I  give  you  your  liberty  from  this 
moment,  till  I  can  fully  reward  you  as  I  intend." 

Near  the  trees  at  the  end  of  Ali  Baba's  long  garden,  he  and 
Abdalla  dug  a  trench  large  enough  to  hold  the  bodies  of  the 
robbers.  When  they  were  buried  there,  Ali  Baba  hid  the  jars 
and  weapons ;  and  as  the  mules  were  of  no  use  to  him,  he  sent 
them  at  different  times  to  be  sold  in  the  market  by  his  slave. 


THE  CAPTAIN  DISCOVERED  AND  KILLED 
BY  MORGIANA 

The  captain  of  the  forty  robbers  had  returned  to  his  cave  in 
the  forest,  but  found  himself  so  lonely  there  that  the  place 
became  frightful  to  him.  He  resolved  at  the  same  time  to 
avenge  the  fate  of  his  comrades,  and  to  bring  about  the  death 
of  Ali  Baba.  For  this  purpose  he  returned  to  the  town,  dis- 
guised as  a  merchant  of  silks.  By  degrees  he  brought  from  his 
cavern  many  sorts  of  fine  stuffs,  and  to  dispose  of  these  he  took 
a  warehouse  that  happened  to  be  opposite  Cassim's,  which 
Ali  Baba's  son  had  occupied  since  the  death  of  his  uncle. 

He  took  the  name  of  Cogia  Houssain,  and  as  a  newcomer 
was  very  civil  to  the  merchants  near  him.  Ali  Baba's  son  was 
one  of  the  first  to  converse  with  him,  and  the  new  merchant 
was  most  friendly.  Within  two  or  three  days  Ali  Baba  came  to 
see  his  son,  and  the  captain  of  the  robbers  knew  him  at  once, 
and  soon  learned  from  his  son  who  he  was.  From  that  time 
forth  he  was  still  more  polite  to  Ali  Baba's  son,  who  soon  felt 
bound  to  repay  the  many  kindnesses  of  his  new  friend. 

As  his  own  house  was  small,  he  arranged  with  his  father 
that  on  a  certain  afternoon,  when  he  and  the  merchant  were 


ALI  BABA  AND  THE  FORTY  ROBBERS     41 

passing  by  Ali  Baba's  house,  they  should  stop,  and  he  should 
ask  them  both  to  sup  with  him.  This  plan  was  carried  out, 
though  at  first  the  merchant,  with  whose  own  plans  it  agreed 
perfectly,  made  as  if  to  excuse  himself.  He  even  gave  it 
as  a  reason  for  not  remaining  that  he  could  eat  no  salt  in 
his  victuals. 

"  If  that  is  all,"  said  Ali  Baba,  "  it  need  not  deprive  me  of 
the  honor  of  your  company  "  ;  and  he  went  to  the  kitchen  and 
told  Morgiana  to  put  no  salt  into  anything  she  was  cooking 
that  evening. 

Thus  Cogia  Houssain  was  persuaded  to  stay,  but  to  Morgiana 
it  seemed  very  strange  that  any  one  should  refuse  to  eat  salt. 
She  wished  to  see  what  manner  of  man  it  might  be,  and  to  this 
end,  when  she  had  finished  what  she  had  to  do  in  the  kitchen, 
she  helped  Abdalla  carry  up  the  dishes.  Looking  at  Cogia 
Houssain,  she  knew  him  at  first  sight,  in  spite  of  his  disguise, 
to  be  the  captain  of  the  robbers,  and,  scanning  him  very  closely, 
saw  that  he  had  a  dagger  under  his  garment. 

"  I  see  now  why  this  greatest  enemy  of  my  master  would 
eat  no  salt  with  him.  He  intends  to  kill  him;  but  I  will 
prevent  him." 

While  they  were  at  supper  Morgiana  made  up  her  mind  to 
do  one  of  the  boldest  deeds  ever  conceived.  She  dressed  herself 
like  a  dancer,  girded  her  waist  with  a  silver-gilt  girdle,  from 
which  hung  a  poniard,  and  put  a  handsome  mask  on  her  face. 
Then,  when  the  supper  was  ended,  she  said  to  Abdalla :  — 

"  Take  your  tabor,  and  let  us  go  and  divert  our  master  and 
his  son's  friend,  as  we  sometimes  do  when  he  is  alone." 

They  presented  themselves  at  the  door  with  a  low  bow,  and 
Morgiana  was  bidden  to  enter  and  show  Cogia  Houssain  how 
well  she  danced.  This,  he  knew,  would  interrupt  him  in  carry- 
ing  out  his  wicked  purpose,  but  he  had  to  make  the  best  of  it, 
and  to  seem  pleased  with  Morgiana's  dancing.  She  was  indeed 


42  SHORT   STORIES 

a  good  dancer,  and  on  this  occasion  outdid  herself  in  graceful 
and  surprising  motions.  At  the  last,  she  took  the  tabor  from 
Abdalla's  hand,  and  held  it  out  like  those  who  dance  for 
money. 

Ali  Baba  put  a  piece  of  gold  into  it,  and  so  did  his  son. 
When  Cogia  Houssain  saw  that  she  was  coming  to  him,  he 
pulled  out  his  purse  from  his  bosom  to  make  her  a  present ; 
but  while  he  was  putting  his  hand  into  it,  Morgiana,  with  cour- 
age worthy  of  herself,  plunged  the  poniard  into  his  heart. 

"  Unhappy  woman !  "  exclaimed  Ali  Baba,  "  what  have  you 
done  to  ruin  me  and  my  family  ? " 

"  It  was  to  preserve,  not  to  ruin  you,"  answered  Morgiana. 
Then  she  showed  the  dagger  in  Cogia  Houssain's  garment,  and 
said :  "  Look  well  at  him,  and  you  will  see  that  he  is  both  the 
pretended  oil-merchant  and  the  captain  of  the  band  of  forty 
robbers.  As  soon  as  you  told  me  that  he  would  eat  no  salt  with 
you,  I  suspected  who  it  was,  and  when  I  saw  him,  1  knew." 

Ali  Baba  embraced  her,  and  said :  "  Morgiana,  I  gave  you 
your  liberty  before,  and  promised  you  more  in  time ;  now  I 
would  make  you  my  daughter-in-law.  Consider,"  he  said,  turn- 
ing to  his  son,  "that  by  marrying  Morgiana,  you  marry  the 
preserver  of  my  family  and  yours." 

The  son  was  all  the  more  ready  to  carry  out  his  father's 
wishes,  because  they  were  the  same  as  his  own,  and  within  a 
few  days  he  and  Morgiana  were  married,  but  before  this,  the 
captain  of  the  robbers  was  buried  with  his  comrades,  and  so 
secretly  was  it  done,  that  their  bones  were  not  found  till  many 
years  had  passed,  when  no  one  had  any  concern  in  making  this 
strange  story  known. 

For  a  whole  year  Ali  Baba  did  not  visit  the  robbers'  cave. 
At  the  end  of  that  time,  as  nobody  had  tried  to  disturb  him,  he 
made  another  journey  to  the  forest,  and,  standing  before  the 
entrance  to  the  cave,  said :  "  Open,  Sesame."  The  door  opened 


ALI  BABA  AND  THE  FORTY  ROBBERS     43 

at  once,  and  from  the  appearance  of  everything  within  the 
cavern,  he  judged  that  nobody  had  been  there  since  the  captain 
had  fetched  the  goods  for  his  shop.  From  this  time  forth,  he 
took  as  much  of  the  treasure  as  his  needs  demanded.  Some 
years  later  he  carried  his  son  to  the  cave,  and  taught  him  the 
secret,  which  he  handed  down  in  his  family,  who  used  their 
good  fortune  wisely,  and  lived  in  great  honor  and  splendor. 


III.   RIP  VAN  WINKLE1  (1819) 
BY  WASHINGTON  IRVING  (1783-1859) 

[Setting.  The  Hudson  River  and  the  Kaatskill  Mountains 
were  first  brought  into  literature  through  this  story,  Irving 
being  the  first  American  master  of  local  color  and  local  tradi- 
tion. Since  1870  the  American  short  story,  following  the 
example  of  Irving,  has  been  the  leading  agency  by  which  the 
South,  the  West,  and  New  England  have  made  known  and  thus 
perpetuated  their  local  scenery,  legends,  customs,  and  dialect. 
Irving,  however,  seemed  afraid  of  dialect.  There  were,  it  is 
true,  many  legends  about  the  Hudson  before  Irving  was  born, 
but  they  had  found  no  expression  in  literature.  Mrs.  Josiah 
Quincy,  who  made  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson  in  1786,  wrote: 
"  Our  captain  had  a  legend  for  every  scene,  either  supernatural 
or  traditional  or  of  actual  occurrence  during  the  war,  and  not 
a  mountain  reared  its  head  unconnected  with  some  marvellous 
story."  Irving,  therefore,  did  not  have  to  manufacture  local 
traditions ;  he  only  gave  them  wider  currency  and  fitted  them 
more  artistically  into  their  natural  settings. 

Irving  chose  for  his  setting  the  twenty  years  that  embrace 
the  Revolutionary  War  because  the  numerous  social  and  political 
changes  that  took  place  then  enabled  him  to  bring  Rip  back 
after  his  sleep  into  a  "  world  not  realized."  You  will  appreciate 
much  better  the  art  of  this  time-setting  if  you  will  try  your 
hand  on  a  somewhat  similar  story  and  place  it  between  1820 

1  From  "  The  Sketch  Book."  The  elaborate  Knickerbocker  notes 
with  which  Irving,  following  a  passing  fashion  of  the  time,  sought  to 
mystify  the  reader,  are  here  omitted.  They  are  hindrances  now  rather 
than  helps. 

44 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE  45 

and  1840,  when  railroads,  telegraph  lines,  and  transatlantic 
steamers  made  a  new  world  out  of  the  old ;  or,  if  your  story 
takes  place  in  the  South,  you  might  make  your  background 
include  the  interval  between  1855  and  1875,  when  slavery  was 
abolished,  when  the  old  plantation  system  was  changed,  when 
the  names  of  new  heroes  emerged,  and  when  new  social  and 
political  and  industrial  problems  had  to  be  grappled  with. 

Plot.  The  plot  is  divided  into  two  almost  equal  parts,  which 
we  may  call  "  before  and  after  taking."  A  recent  critic  has 
said:  "The  actual  forward  movement  of  the  plot  does  not 
begin  until  the  sentence,  *  In  a  long  ramble  of  the  kind  on  a 
fine  autumnal  day,  Rip  had  unconsciously  scrambled  to  one  of 
the  highest  parts  of  the  Kaatskill  Mountains.' "  The  critic  has 
missed,  I  think,  the  main  structural  excellence  of  the  story. 
Dame  Van  Winkle,  the  children  who  hung  around  Rip,  his 
own  children,  his  dog,  the  social  club  at  the  inn  with  the  por- 
trait of  George  the  Third,  Van  Bummel,  and  Nicholas  Vedder, 
all  had  to  be  mentioned  before  Rip  began  the  ascent  of  the 
mountain.  Otherwise,  when  he  returned,  we  should  have  had 
no  means  of  measuring  the  swift  passage  of  time  during  his 
sleep.  Each  is  a  skillfully  set  timepiece  or  milepost  which,  on 
Rip's  return,  misleads  the  poor  fellow  at  every  turn  and  thus 
produces  the  exact  kind  of  "totality  of  effect"  that  Irving 
intended.  The  forward  movement  of  the  plot  begins  with  this 
careful  planning  of  the  route  that  Rip  is  to  take  on  his  return 
trip,  when  twenty  years  shall  have  done  their  work.  Cut  out 
these  points  de  repere  and  see  how  effectively  the  forward 
movement  of  the  plot  is  retarded. 

Characters.  Rip  was  the  first  character  in  American  fiction 
to  be  known  far  beyond  our  own  borders,  and  he  remains  one 
of  the  best  known.  In  the  class  with  him  belong  James  Feni- 
more  Cooper's  Leatherstocking  (or  Natty  Bumppo),  Harriet 
Beecher  Stowe's  Uncle  Tom,  Joel  Chandler  Harris's  Uncle 
Remus,  and  Mark  Twain's  Huckleberry  Finn  and  Tom  Sawyer. 
He  has  been  called  un-American,  and  so  he  is,  and  so  Irving 


46  SHORT  STORIES 

plainly  intended  him  to  be.  If  one  insists  on  finding  a  bit  of 
distinctive  Americanism  somewhere  in  the  story,  he  will  find 
it  not  in  Rip  but  in  the  number  and  rapidity  of  the  changes 
that  American  life  underwent  during  the  twenty  years  that 
serve  as  background  to  the  story.  George  William  Curtis  calls 
Rip  "  the  constant  and  unconscious  satirist  of  American  life," 
but  surely  Irving  would  have  smiled  at  finding  so  purposeful 
a  mission  laid  upon  the  stooping  shoulders  of  his  vagabond 
ne'er-do-well  hero.  Rip  is  no  satirist,  conscious  or  unconscious. 
He  is  a  provincial  Dutch  type,  such  as  Irving  had  seen  a 
hundred  times ;  but  he  is  so  lovable  and  is  sketched  so  lovingly 
that  we  hardly  realize  the  consummate  art,  the  human  sym- 
pathy, and  the  keen  powers  of  observation  that  have  gone  into 
his  making.  Every  other  character  in  the  story,  including  Wolf, 
is  a  sidelight  on  Rip.  Of  "  The  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow  " 
Irving  said :  "  The  story  is  a  mere  whimsical  band  to  connect 
the  descriptions  of  scenery,  customs,  manners,  etc."  The  em- 
phasis, in  other  words,  was  put  on  the  setting.  Of  "  Rip  Van 
Winkle  "  might  he  not  have  said,  "  The  descriptions  of  scenery, 
customs,  manners,  etc.  are  but  so  many  channels  through  which 
the  character  of  Rip  finds  outlet  and  expression  "  ?] 

Whoever  has  made  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson  must  remember 
the  Kaatskill  Mountains.  They  are  a  dismembered  branch  of 
the  great  Appalachian  family,  and  are  seen  away  to  the  west 
of  the  river,  swelling  up  to  a  noble  height,  and  lording  it  over 
the  surrounding  country.  Every  change  of  season,  every  change 
of  weather,  indeed,  every  hour  of  the  day,  produces  some 
change  in  the  magical  hues  and  shapes  of  these  mountains,  and 
they  are  regarded  by  all  the  good  wives,  far  and  near,  as  per- 
fect barometers.  When  the  weather  is  fair  and  settled,  they 
are  clothed  in  blue  and  purple,  and  print  their  bold  outlines 
on  the  clear  evening  sky;  but  sometimes  when  the  rest  of 
the  landscape  is  cloudless  they  will  gather  a  hood  of  gray 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE  47 

vapors  about  their  summits,  which,  in  the  last  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  will  glow  and  light  up  like  a  crown  of  glory. 

At  the  foot  of  these  fairy  mountains,  the  voyager  may  have 
descried  the  light  smoke  curling  up  from  a  village,  whose  shingle- 
roofs  gleam  among  the  trees,  just  where  the  blue  tints  of  the 
upland  melt  away  into  the  fresh  green  of  the  nearer  landscape. 
It  is  a  little  village  of  great  antiquity,  having  been  founded  by 
some  of  the  Dutch  colonists  in  the  early  time  of  the  province, 
just  about  the  beginning  of  the  government  of  the  good  Peter 
Stuyvesant  (may  he  rest  in  peace !),  and  there  were  some  of  the 
houses  of  the  original  settlers  standing  within  a  few  years,  built 
of  small  yellow  bricks  brought  from  Holland,  having  latticed 
windows  and  gable  fronts,  surmounted  with  weathercocks. 

In  that  same  village,  and  in  one  of  these  very  houses  (which, 
to  tell  the  precise  truth,  was  sadly  time-worn  and  weather- 
beaten),  there  lived  many  years  since,  while  the  country  was 
yet  a  province  of  Great  Britain,  a  simple,  good-natured  fellow, 
of  the  name  of  Rip  Van  Winkle.  He  was  a  descendant  of  the 
Van  Winkles  who  figured  so  gallantly  in  the  chivalrous  days  of 
Peter  Stuyvesant,  and  accompanied  him  to  the  siege  of  Fort 
Christina.  He  inherited,  however,  but  little  of  the  martial  char- 
acter of  his  ancestors.  I  have  observed  that  he  was  a  simple, 
good-natured  man ;  he  was,  moreover,  a  kind  neighbor,  and  an 
obedient  henpecked  husband.  Indeed,  to  the  latter  circumstance 
might  be  owing  that  meekness  of  spirit  which  gained  him  such 
universal  popularity ;  for  those  men  are  most  apt  to  be  obse- 
quious and  conciliating  abroad,  who  are  under  the  discipline  of 
shrews  at  home.  Their  tempers,  doubtless,  are  rendered  pliant 
and  malleable  in  the  fiery  furnace  of  domestic  tribulation ;  and 
a  curtain  lecture  is  worth  all  the  sermons  in  the  world  for 
teaching  the  virtues  of  patience  and  long-suffering.  A  terma- 
gant wife  may,  therefore,  in  some  respects  be  considered  a 
tolerable  blessing,  and  if  so,  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  thrice  blessed. 


48  SHORT  STORIES 

Certain  it  is,  that  he  was  a  great  favorite  among  all  the 
good  wives  of  the  village,  who,  as  usual  with  the  amiable  sex, 
took  his  part  in  all  family  squabbles  j  and  never  failed,  when- 
ever they  talked  those  matters  over  in  their  evening  gossipings, 
to  lay  all  the  blame  on  Dame  Van  Winkle.  The  children  of 
the  village,  too,  would  shout  with  joy  whenever  he  approached. 
He  assisted  at  their  sports,  made  their  playthings,  taught  them 
to  fly  kites  and  shoot  marbles,  and  told  them  long  stories  of 
ghosts,  witches,  and  Indians.  Whenever  he  went  dodging  about 
the  village,  he  was  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  them  hanging 
on  his  skirts,  clambering  on  his  back,  and  playing  a  thousand 
tricks  on  him  with  impunity;  and  not  a  dog  would  bark  at 
him  throughout  the  neighborhood. 

The  great  error  in  Rip's  composition  was  an  insuperable 
aversion  to  all  kinds  of  profitable  labor.  It  could  not  be  from 
the  want  of  assiduity  or  perseverance;  for  he  would  sit  on  a 
wet  rock,  with  a  rod  as  long  and  heavy  as  a  Tartar's  lance, 
and  fish  all  day  without  a  murmur,  even  though  he  should  not 
be  encouraged  by  a  single  nibble.  He  would  carry  a  fowling- 
piece  on  his  shoulder  for  hours  together,  trudging  through 
woods  and  swamps,  and  up  hill  and  down  dale,  to  shoot  a  few 
squirrels  or  wild  pigeons.  He  would  never  refuse  to  assist  a 
neighbor,  even  in  the  roughest  toil,  and  was  a  foremost  man  at 
all  country  frolics  for  husking  Indian  corn,  or  building  stone- 
fences  ;  the  women  of  the  village,  too,  used  to  employ  him  to 
run  their  errands,  and  to  do  such  little  odd  jobs  as  their  less 
obliging  husbands  would  not  do  for  them.  In  a  word,  Rip  was 
ready  to  attend  to  anybody's  business  but  his  own ;  but  as 
to  doing  family  duty,  and  keeping  his  farm  in  order,  he  found 
it  impossible.  , 

In  fact,  he  declared  it  was  of  no  use  to  work  on  his  farm ; 
it  was  the  most  pestilent  little  piece  of  ground  in  the  whole 
country ;  everything  about  it  went  wrong,  and  would  go  wrong, 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE  49 

in  spite  of  him.  His  fences  were  continually  falling  to  pieces ; 
his  cow  would  either  go  astray  or  get  among  the  cabbages ; 
weeds  were  sure  to  grow  quicker  in  his  fields  than  anywhere 
else;  the  rain  always  made  a  point  of  setting  in  just  as  he 
had  some  out-door  work  to  do ;  so  that  though  his  patrimonial 
estate  had  dwindled  away  under  his  management,  acre  by  acre, 
until  there  was  little  more  left  than  a  mere  patch  of  Indian 
corn  and  potatoes,  yet  it  was  the  worst-conditioned  farm  in 
the  neighborhood. 

His  children,  too,  were  as  ragged  and  wild  as  if  they  be- 
longed to  nobody.  His  son  Rip,  an  urchin  begotten  in  his  own 
likeness,  promised  to  inherit  the  habits,  with  the  old  clothes  of 
his  father.  He  was  generally  seen  trooping  like  a  colt  at  his 
mother's  heels,  equipped  in  a  pair  of  his  father's  cast-off  galli- 
gaskins, which  he  had  much  ado  to  hold  up  with  one  hand,  as 
a  fine  lady  does  her  train  in  bad  weather. 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  however,  was  one  of  those  happy  mortals, 
of  foolish,  well-oiled  dispositions,  who  take  the  world  easy,  eat 
white  bread  or  brown,  whichever  can  be  got  with  least  thought 
or  trouble,  and  would  rather  starve  on  a  penny  than  work  for 
a  pound.  If  left  to  himself,  he  would  have  whistled  life  away 
in  perfect  contentment;  but  his  wife  kept  continually  dinning 
in  his  ears  about  his  idleness,  his  carelessness,  and  the  ruin  he 
was  bringing  on  his  family.  Morning,  noon,  and  night  her 
tongue  was  incessantly  going,  and  everything  he  said  or  did 
was  sure  to  produce  a  torrent  of  household  eloquence.  Rip 
had  but  one  way  of  replying  to  all  lectures  of  the  kind,  and 
that,  by  frequent  use,  had  grown  into  a  habit.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  shook  his  head,  cast  up  his  eyes,  but  said  nothing. 
This,  however,  always  provoked  a  fresh  volley  from  his  wife ; 
so  that  he  was  fain  to  draw  off  his  forces,  and  take  to  the  out- 
side of  the  house  —  the  only  side  which,  in  truth,  belongs  to  a 
henpecked  husband. 


50  SHORT   STORIES 

Rip's  sole  domestic  adherent  was  his  dog  Wolf,  who  was  as 
much  henpecked  as  his  master;  for  Dame  Van  Winkle  regarded 
them  as  companions  in  idleness,  and  even  looked  upon  Wolf 
with  an  evil  eye,  as  the  cause  of  his  master's  going  so  often 
astray.  True  it  is,  in  all  points  of  spirit  befitting  an  honorable 
dog,  he  was  as  courageous  an  animal  as  ever  scoured  the  woods 
—  but  what  courage  can  withstand  the  ever-during  and  all- 
besetting  terrors  of  a  woman's  tongue?  The  moment  Wolf 
entered  the  house  his  crest  fell,  his  tail  drooped  to  the  ground, 
or  curled  between  his  legs,  he  sneaked  about  with  a  gallows 
air,  casting  many  a  sidelong  glance  at  Dame  Van  Winkle,  and 
at  the  least  flourish  of  a  broomstick  or  ladle  he  would  fly  to 
the  door  with  yelping  precipitation. 

Times  grew  worse  and  worse  with  Rip  Van  Winkle  as  years 
of  matrimony  rolled  on ;  a  tart  temper  never  mellows  with  age, 
and  a  sharp  tongue  is  the  only  edged  tool  that  grows  keener 
with  constant  use.  For  a  long  while  he  used  to  console  himself, 
when  driven  from  home,  by  frequenting  a  kind  of  perpetual 
club  of  the  sages,  philosophers,  and  other  idle  personages  of 
the  village,  which  held  its  sessions  on  a  bench  before  a  small 
inn,  designated  by  a  rubicund  portrait  of  His  Majesty  George 
the  Third.  Here  they  used  to  sit  in  the  shade  through  a  long 
lazy  summer's  day,  talking  listlessly  over  village  gossip,  or  tell- 
ing endless  sleepy  stories  about  nothing.  But  it  would  have 
been  worth  any  statesman's  money  to  have  heard  the  profound 
discussions  that  sometimes  took  place,  when  by  chance  an  old 
newspaper  fell  into  their  hands  from  some  passing  traveller. 
How  solemnly  they  would  listen  to  the  contents,  as  drawled  out 
by  Derrick  Van  Bummel,  the  school-master,  a  dapper,  learned 
little  man,  who  was  not  to  be  daunted  by  the  most  gigantic 
word  in  the  dictionary ;  and  how  sagely  they  would  deliberate 
upon  public  events  some  months  after  they  had  taken  place. 

The  opinions  of  this  junto  were  completely  controlled  by 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE  51 

Nicholas  Vedder,  a  patriarch  of  the  village,  and  landlord  of  the 
inn,  at  the  door  of  which  he  took  his  seat  from  morning  till 
night,  just  moving  sufficiently  to  avoid  the  sun  and  keep  in  the 
shade  of  a  large  tree ;  so  that  the  neighbors  could  tell  the  hour 
by  his  movements  as  accurately  as  by  a  sun-dial.  It  is  true  he 
was  rarely  heard  to  speak,  but  smoked  his  pipe  incessantly. 
His  adherents,  however  (for  every  great  man  has  his  adher- 
ents), perfectly  understood  him,  and  knew  how  to  gather  his 
opinions.  When  anything  that  was  read  or  related  displeased 
him,  he  was  observed  to  smoke  his  pipe  vehemently,  and  to 
send  forth  short,  frequent  and  angry  puffs ;  but  when  pleased, 
he  would  inhale  the  smoke  slowly  and  tranquilly,  and  emit  it 
in  light  and  placid  clouds ;  and  sometimes,  taking  the  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  and  letting  the  fragrant  vapor  curl  about  his  nose, 
would  gravely  nod  his  head  in  token  of  perfect  approbation. 

From  even  this  stronghold  the  unlucky  Rip  was  at  length 
routed  by  his  termagant  wife,  who  would  suddenly  break  in 
upon  the  tranquillity  of  the  assemblage  and  call  the  members 
all  to  naught ;  nor  was  that  august  personage,  Nicholas  Vedder 
himself,  sacred  from  the  daring  tongue  of  this  terrible  virago, 
who  charged  him  outright  with  encouraging  her  husband  in 
habits  of  idleness. 

Poor  Rip  was  at  last  reduced  almost  to  despair;  and  his 
only  alternative,  to  escape  from  the  labor  of  the  farm  and 
clamor  of  his  wife,  was  to  take  gun  in  hand  and  stroll  away 
into  the  woods.  Here  he  would  sometimes  seat  himself  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree,  and  share  the  contents  of  his  wallet  with  Wolf, 
with  whom  he  sympathized  as  a  fellow-sufferer  in  persecution. 
"  Poor  Wolf,"  he  would  say,  "  thy  mistress  leads  thee  a  dog's 
life  of  it;  but  never  mind,  my  lad,  whilst  I  live  thou  shalt  never 
want  a  friend  to  stand  by  thee ! "  Wolf  would  wag  his  tail,  look 
wistfully  in  his  master's  face,  and  if  dogs  can  feel  pity,  I  verily 
believe  he  reciprocated  the  sentiment  with  all  his  heart. 


52  SHORT   STORIES 

In  a  long  ramble  of  the  kind  on  a  fine  autumnal  day,  Rip 
had  unconsciously  scrambled  to  one  of  the  highest  parts  of  the 
Kaatskill  Mountains.  He  was  after  his  favorite  sport  of  squirrel 
shooting,  and  the  still  solitudes  had  echoed  and  re-echoed  with 
the  reports  of  his  gun.  Panting  and  fatigued,  he  threw  himself, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  on  a  green  knoll,  covered  with  mountain 
herbage,  that  crowned  the  brow  of  a  precipice.  From  an  open- 
ing between  the  trees  he  could  overlook  all  the  lower  country 
for  many  a  mile  of  rich  woodland.  He  saw  at  a  distance  the 
lordly  Hudson,  far,  far  below  him,  moving  on  its  silent  but 
majestic  course,  with  the  reflection  of  a  purple  cloud,  or  the 
sail  of  a  lagging  bark,  here  and  there  sleeping  on  its  glassy 
bosom,  and  at  last  losing  itself  in  the  blue  highlands. 

On  the  other  side  he  looked  down  into  a  deep  mountain 
glen,  wild,  lonely,  and  shagged,  the  bottom  filled  with  fragments 
from  the  impending  cliffs,  and  scarcely  lighted  by  the  reflected 
rays  of  the  setting  sun.  For  some  time  Rip  lay  musing  on  this 
scene ;  evening  was  gradually  advancing,  the  mountains  began 
to  throw  their  long  blue  shadows  over  the  valleys ;  he  saw  that 
it  would  be  dark  long  before  he  could  reach  the  village,  and 
he  heaved  a  heavy  sigh  when  he  thought  of  encountering  the 
terrors  of  Dame  Van  Winkle. 

As  he  was  about  to  descend,  he  heard  a  voice  from  a  dis- 
tance, hallooing,  "  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  Rip  Van  Winkle !  "  He 
looked  round,  but  could  see  nothing  but  a  crow  winging  its 
solitary  flight  across  the  mountain.  He  thought  his  fancy  must 
have  deceived  him,  and  turned  again  to  descend,  when  he  heard 
the  same  cry  ring  through  the  still  evening  air:  "Rip  Van 
Winkle  !  Rip  Van  Winkle  I  "  —  at  the  same  time  Wolf  bristled 
up  his  back,  and  giving  a  low  growl,  skulked  to  his  master's 
side,  looking  fearfully  down  into  the  glen.  Rip  now  felt  a  vague 
apprehension  stealing  over  him;  he  looked  anxiously  in  the 
same  direction,  and  perceived  a  strange  figure  slowly  toiling 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE  53 

up  the  rocks,  and  bending  under  the  weight  of  something  he 
carried  on  his  back.  He  was  surprised  to  see  any  human  being 
in  this  lonely  and  unfrequented  place ;  but  supposing  it  to  be 
some  one  of  the  neighborhood  in  need  of  his  assistance,  he 
hastened  down  to  yield  it. 

On  nearer  approach  he  was  still  more  surprised  at  the  singu- 
larity of  the  stranger's  appearance.  He  was  a  short,  square- 
built  old  fellow,  with  thick  bushy  hair,  and  a  grizzled  beard. 
His  dress  was  of  the  antique  Dutch  fashion:  a  cloth  jerkin 
strapped  round  the  waist,  several  pairs  of  breeches,  the  outer 
one  of  ample  volume,  decorated  with  rows  of  buttons  down  the 
sides,  and  bunches  at  the  knees.  He  bore  on  his  shoulder  a 
stout  keg,  that  seemed  full  of  liquor,  and  made  signs  for  Rip 
to  approach  and  assist  him  with  the  load.  Though  rather  shy 
and  distrustful  of  this  new  acquaintance,  Rip  complied  with  his 
usual  alacrity ;  and  mutually  relieving  one  another,  they  clam- 
bered up  a  narrow  gully,  apparently  the  dry  bed  of  a  mountain 
torrent.  As  they  ascended,  Rip  every  now  and  then  heard  long 
rolling  peals  like  distant  thunder,  that  seemed  to  issue  out  of 
a  deep  ravine,  or  rather  cleft,  between  lofty  rocks,  toward  which 
their  rugged  path  conducted.  He  paused  for  a  moment,  but 
supposing  it  to  be  the  muttering  of  one  of  those  transient 
thunder-showers  which  often  take  place  in  mountain  heights, 
he  proceeded.  Passing  through  the  ravine,  they  came  to  a 
hollow,  like  a  small  amphitheatre,  surrounded  by  perpendicular 
precipices,  over  the  brinks  of  which  impending  trees  shot  their 
branches,  so  that  you  only  caught  glimpses  of  the  azure  sky 
and  the  bright  evening  cloud.  During  the  whole  time  Rip  and 
his  companion  had  labored  on  in  silence ;  for  though  the  former 
marvelled  greatly  what  could  be  the  object  of  carrying  a  keg  of 
liquor  up  this  wild  mountain,  yet  there  was  something  strange 
and  incomprehensible  about  the  unknown,  that  inspired  awe 
and  checked  familiarity. 


54  SHORT  STORIES 

On  entering  the  amphitheatre,  new  objects  of  wonder  pre- 
sented themselves.  On  a  level  spot  in  the  center  was  a  com- 
pany of  odd-looking  personages  playing  at  ninepins.  They  were 
dressed  in  a  quaint  outlandish  fashion ;  some  wore  short  doub- 
lets, others  jerkins,  with  long  knives  in  their  belts,  and  most  of 
them  had  enormous  breeches  of  similar  style  with  that  of  the 
guide's.  Their  visages,  too,  were  peculiar;  one  had  a  large 
beard,  broad  face,  and  small  piggish  eyes ;  the  face  of  another 
seemed  to  consist  entirely  of  nose,  and  was  surmounted  by  a 
white  sugar-loaf  hat,  set  off  with  a  little  red  cock's  tail.  They  all 
had  beards,  of  various  shapes  and  colors.  There  was  one  who 
seemed  to  be  the  commander.  He  was  a  stout  old  gentleman, 
with  a  weather-beaten  countenance ;  he  wore  a  laced  doublet, 
broad  belt  and  hanger,  high-crowned  hat  and  feather,  red  stock- 
ings, and  high-heeled  shoes,  with  roses  in  them.  The  whole  group 
reminded  Rip  of  the  figures  in  an  old  Flemish  painting  in  the 
parlor  of  Dominie  Van  Shaick,  the  village  parson,  which  had 
been  brought  over  from  Holland  at  the  time  of  the  settlement. 

What  seemed  particularly  odd  to  Rip  was,  that  though  these 
folks  were  evidently  amusing  themselves,  yet  they  maintained 
the  gravest  faces,  the  most  mysterious  silence,  and  were,  withal, 
the  most  melancholy  party  of  pleasure  he  had  ever  witnessed. 
Nothing  interrupted  the  stillness  of  the  scene  but  the  noise  of 
the  balls,  which,  whenever  they  were  rolled,  echoed  along  the 
mountains  like  rumbling  peals  of  thunder. 

As  Rip  and  his  companion  approached  them,  they  suddenly 
desisted  from  their  play,  and  stared  at  him  with  such  fixed, 
statue-like  gaze,  and  such  strange,  uncouth,  lack-lustre  counte- 
nances, that  his  heart  turned  within  him,  and  his  knees  smote 
together.  His  companion  now  emptied  the  contents  of  the  keg 
into  large  flagons,  and  made  signs  to  him  to  wait  upon  the  com- 
pany. He  obeyed  with  fear  and  trembling;  they  quaffed  the 
liquor  in  profound  silence,  and  then  returned  to  their  ganr 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE  55 

By  degrees  Rip's  awe  and  apprehension  subsided.  He  even 
ventured,  when  no  eye  was  fixed  upon  him,  to  taste  the  bever- 
age, which  he  found  had  much  of  the  flavor  of  excellent  Hol- 
lands. He  was  naturally  a  thirsty  soul,  and  was  soon  tempted 
to  repeat  the  draught.  One  taste  provoked  another;  and  he 
reiterated  his  visits  to  the  flagon  so  often  that  at  length  his 
senses  were  overpowered,  his  eyes  swam  in  his  head,  his  head 
gradually  declined,  and  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

On  waking,  he  found  himself  on  the  green  knoll  whence  he 
had  first  seen  the  old  man  of  the  glen.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  — 
it  was  a  bright,  sunny  morning.  The  birds  were  hopping  and 
twittering  among  the  bushes,  and  the  eagle  was  wheeling  aloft, 
and  breasting  the  pure  mountain  breeze.  tf  Surely,"  thought 
Rip,  "  I  have  not  slept  here  all  night."  He  recalled  the  occur- 
rences before  he  fell  asleep.  The  strange  man  with  a  keg  of 
liquor  —  the  mountain  ravine  —  the  wild  retreat  among  the 
rocks — the  woe-begone  party  at  ninepins — the  flagon — "Oh! 
that  flagon!  that  wicked  flagon!"  thought  Rip — "what  excuse 
shall  I  make  to  Dame  Van  Winkle  ? " 

He  looked  round  for  his  gun,  but  in  place  of  the  clean,  well- 
oiled  fowling-piece,  he  found  an  old  firelock  lying  by  him,  the 
barrel  incrusted  with  rust,  the  lock  falling  off,  and  the  stock 
worm-eaten.  He  now  suspected  that  the  grave  roisterers  of  the 
mountain  had  put  a  trick  upon  him,  and,  having  dosed  him 
with  liquor,  had  robbed  him  of  his  gun.  Wolf,  too,  had  disap- 
peared, but  he  might  have  strayed  away  after  a  squirrel  or 
partridge.  He  whistled  after  him,  and  shouted  his  name,  but 
all  in  vain ;  the  echoes  repeated  his  whistle  and  shout,  but  no 
dog  was  to  be  seen. 

He  determined  to  revisit  the  scene  of  the  last  evening's 
gambol,  and  if  he  met  with  any  of  the  party,  to  demand  his 
dog  and  gun.  As  he  rose  to  walk,  he  found  himself  stiff  in 
the  joints,  and  wanting  in  his  usual  activity.  "  These  mountain 


56  SHORT   STORIES 

beds  do  not  agree  with  me,"  thought  Rip,  "  and  if  this  frolic 
should  lay  me  up  with  a  fit  of  the  rheumatism,  I  shall  have  a 
blessed  time  with  Dame  Van  Winkle."  With  some  difficulty 
he  got  down  into  the  glen ;  he  found  the  gully  up  which  he 
and  his  companion  has  ascended  the  preceding  evening;  but 
to  his  astonishment  a  mountain  stream  was  now  foaming  down 
it,  leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  and  filling  the  glen  with  babbling 
murmurs.  He,  however,  made  shift  to  scramble  up  its  sides, 
working  his  toilsome  way  through  thickets  of  birch,  sassafras, 
and  witch-hazel,  and  sometimes  tripped  up  or  entangled  by  the 
wild  grapevines  that  twisted  their  coils  or  tendrils  from  tree 
to  tree,  and  spread  a  kind  of  network  in  his  path. 

At  length  he  reached  to  where  the  ravine  had  opened  through 
the  cliffs  to  the  amphitheatre ;  but  no  traces  of  such  opening 
remained.  The  rocks  presented  a  high,  impenetrable  wall,  over 
which  the  torrent  came  tumbling  in  a  sheet  of  feathery  foam, 
and  fell  into  a  broad,  deep  basin,  black  from  the  shadows  of 
the  surrounding  forest.  Here,  then,  poor  Rip  was  brought  to 
a  stand.  He  again  called  and  whistled  after  his  dog ;  he  was 
only  answered  by  the  cawing  of  a  flock  of  idle  crows,  sporting 
high  in  air  about  a  dry  tree  that  overhung  a  sunny  precipice ; 
and  who,  secure  in  their  elevation,  seemed  to  look  down  and 
scoff  at  the  poor  man's  perplexities.  What  was  to  be  done? 
the  morning  was  passing  away,  and  Rip  felt  famished  for 
want  of  his  breakfast.  He  grieved  to  give  up  his  dog  and 
gun;  he  dreaded  to  meet  his  wife;  but  it  would  not  do  to 
starve  among  the  mountains.  He  shook  his  head,  shouldered 
the  rusty  firelock,  and,  with  a  heart  full  of  trouble  and  anxiety, 
turned  his  steps  homeward. 

As  he  approached  the  village  he  met  a  number  of  people, 
but  none  whom  he  knew,  which  somewhat  surprised  him,  for 
he  had  thought  himself  acquainted  with  every  one  in  the 
country  round.  Their  dress,  too,  was  of  a  different  fashion 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE  57 

from  that  to  which  he  was  accustomed.  They  all  stared  at  him 
with  equal  marks  of  surprise,  and  whenever  they  cast  their  eyes 
upon  him,  invariably  stroked  their  chins.  The  constant  recur- 
rence of  this  gesture  induced  Rip,  involuntarily,  to  do  the  same, 
when,  to  his  astonishment,  he  found  his  beard  had  grown  a 
foot  long! 

He  had  now  entered  the  skirts  of  the  village.  A  troop  of 
strange  children  ran  at  his  heels,  hooting  after  him,  and  point- 
ing at  his  gray  beard.  The  dogs,  too,  not  one  of  which  he 
recognized  for  an  old  acquaintance,  barked  at  him  as  he  passed. 
The  very  village  was  altered  ;  it  was  larger  and  more  populous. 
'There  were  rows  of  houses  which  he  had  never  seen  before, 
and  those  which  had  been  his  familiar  haunts  had  disappeared. 
Strange  names  were  over  the  doors  —  strange  faces  at  the 
windows  —  everything  was  strange.  His  mind  now  misgave 
him ;  he  began  to  doubt  whether  both  he  and  the  world  around 
him  were  not  bewitched.  Surely  this  was  his  native  village, 
which  he  had  left  but  the  day  before.  There  stood  the  Kaats- 
kill  Mountains  —  there  ran  the  silver  Hudson  at  a  distance  — 
there  was  every  hill  and  dale  precisely  as  it  had  always  been 
—  Rip  was  sorely  perplexed — "That  flagon  last  night,"  thought 
he,  "  has  addled  my  poor  head  sadly  I  " 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  he  found  the  way  to  his 
own  house,  which  he  approached  with  silent  awe,  expecting 
every  moment  to  hear  the  shrill  voice  of  Dame  Van  Winkle. 
He  found  the  house  gone  to  decay  —  the  roof  fallen  in,  the 
windows  shattered,  and  the  doors  off  the  hinges.  A  half-starved 
dog  that  looked  like  Wolf  was  skulking  about  it.  Rip  called 
him  by  name,  but  the  cur  snarled,  showed  his  teeth,  and  passed 
on.  This  was  an  unkind  cut  indeed  —  "  My  very  dog,"  sighed 
poor  Rip,  "  has  forgotten  me  !  " 

He  entered  the  house,  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  Dame  Van 
Winkle  had  always  kept  in  neat  order.  It  was  empty,  forlorn, 


58  SHORT   STORIES 

and  apparently  abandoned.  This  desolateness  overcame  all  nis 
connubial  fears  —  he  called  loudly  for  his  wife  and  children  — 
the  lonely  chambers  rang  for  a  moment  with  his  voice,  and 
then  again  all  was  silence. 

He  now  hurried  forth,  and  hastened  to  his  old  resort,  the 
village  inn  —  but  it,  too,  was  gone.  A  large,  rickety  wooden 
building  stood  in  its  place,  with  great  gaping  windows,  some 
of  them  broken  and  mended  with  old  hats  and  petticoats,  and 
over  the  door  was  painted,  "  The  Union  Hotel,  by  Jonathan 
Doolittle."  Instead  of  the  great  tree  that  used  to  shelter  the 
quiet  little  Dutch  inn  of  yore,  there  now  was  reared  a  tall 
naked  pole,  with  something  on  the  top  that  looked  like  a  red 
night-cap,  and  from  it  was  fluttering  a  flag,  on  which  was  a 
singular  assemblage  of  stars  and  stripes  —  all  this  was  strange 
and  incomprehensible.  He  recognized  on  the  sign,  however, 
the  ruby  face  of  King  George,  under  which  he  had  smoked 
so  many  a  peaceful  pipe;  but  even  this  was  singularly  meta- 
morphosed. The  red  coat  was  changed  for  one  of  blue  and 
buff,  a  sword  was  held  in  the  hand  instead  of  a  sceptre,  the 
head  was  decorated  with  a  cocked  hat,  and  underneath  was 
painted  in  large  characters,  GENERAL  WASHINGTON. 

There  was,  as  usual,  a  crowd  of  folk  about  the  door,  but 
none  that  Rip  recollected.  The  very  character  of  the  people 
seemed  changed.  There  was  a  busy,  bustling,  disputatious 
tone  about  it,  instead  of  the  accustomed  phlegm  and  drowsy 
tranquillity.  He  looked  in  vain  for  the  sage  Nicholas  Vedder, 
with  his  broad  face,  double  chin,  and  fair  long  pipe,  uttering 
clouds  of  tobacco-smoke  instead  of  idle  speeches  ;  or  Van  Bum- 
mel,  the  schoolmaster,  doling  forth  the  contents  of  an  ancient 
newspaper.  In  place  of  these,  a  lean,  bilious-looking  fellow, 
with  his  pockets  full  of  hand-bills,  was  haranguing  vehemently 
about  rights  of  citizens  —  elections  —  members  of  congress  — 
liberty  —  Bunker's  Hill  —  heroes  of  seventy-six  —  and  other 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE  59 

words,  which  were  a  perfect  Babylonish  jargon  to  the  bewildered 
Van  Winkle. 

The  appearance  of  Rip,  with  his  long  grizzled  beard,  his 
rusty  fowling-piece,  his  uncouth  dress,  and  an  army  of  women 
and  children  at  his  heels,  soon  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
tavern-politicians.  They  crowded  round  him,  eying  him  from 
head  to  foot  with  great  curiosity.  The  orator  bustled  up  to 
him,  and,  drawing  him  partly  aside,  inquired  "on  which  side  he 
voted?"  Rip  stared  in  vacant  stupidity.  Another  short  but 
busy  little  fellow  pulled  him  by  the  arm,  and,  rising  on  tiptoe, 
inquired  in  his  ear,  "  Whether  he  was  Federal  or  Democrat  ? " 
Rip  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  the  question;  when 
a  knowing,  self-important  old  gentleman,  in  a  sharp  cocked  hat, 
made  his  way  through  the  crowd,  putting  them  to  the  right  and 
left  with  his  elbows  as  he  passed,  and  planting  himself  before 
Van  Winkle,  with  one  arm  akimbo,  the  other  resting  on  his 
cane,  his  keen  eyes  and  sharp  hat  penetrating,  as  it  were,  into 
his  very  soul,  demanded  in  an  austere  tone,  "  what  brought  him 
to  the  election  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  mob  at  his 
heels,  and  whether  he  meant  to  breed  a  riot  in  the  village  ? "  — 
"Alasl  gentlemen,"  cried  Rip,  somewhat  dismayed,  "I  am 
a  poor  quiet  man,  a  native  of  the  place,  and  a  loyal  subject  of 
the  king,  God  bless  him  I  " 

Here  a  general  shout  burst  from  the  bystanders  —  "A  tory ! 
a  tory !  a  spy  !  a  refugee  1  hustle  him  !  away  with  him  1 "  It 
was  with  great  difficulty  that  the  self-important  man  in  the 
cocked  hat  restored  order;  and,  having  assumed  a  tenfold 
austerity  of  brow,  demanded  again  of  the  unknown  culprit  what 
he  came  there  for,  and  whom  he  was  seeking  ?  The  poor  man 
humbly  assured  him  that  he  meant  no  harm,  but  merely  came 
there  in  search  of  some  of  his  neighbors,  who  used  to  keep 
about  the  tavern. 

«  Well  —  who  are  they  ?  —  name  them." 


60  SHORT  STORIES 

Rip  bethought  himself  a  moment,  and  inquired,  "Where's 
Nicholas  Vedder  ? " 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  little  while,  when  an  old  man  replied, 
in  a  thin,  piping  voice :  "  Nicholas  Vedder !  why,  he  is  dead 
and  gone  these  eighteen  years  !  There  was  a  wooden  tombstone 
in  the  churchyard  that  used  to  tell  all  about  him,  but  that's 
rotten  and  gone  too." 

"  Where 's  Brom  Butcher  ? " 

"  Oh,  he  went  off  to  the  army  in  the  beginning  of  the  war ; 
some  say  he  was  killed  at  the  storming  of  Stony  Point  —  others 
say  he  was  drowned  in  a  squall  at  the  foot  of  Antony's  Nose. 
I  don't  know  —  he  never  came  back  again." 
.    "  Where 's  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster  ? " 

"  He  went  off  to  the  wars  too,  was  a  great  militia  general, 
and  is  now  in  Congress." 

Rip's  heart  died  away  at  hearing  of  these  sad  changes  in  his 
home  and  friends,  and  finding  himself  thus  alone  in  the  world. 
Every  answer  puzzled  him  too,  by  treating  of  such  enormous 
lapses  of  time,  and  of  matters  which  he  could  not  understand : 
war — Congress  —  Stony  Point ;  he  had  no  courage  to  ask  after 
any  more  friends,  but  cried  out  in  despair,  "  Does  nobody  here 
know  Rip  Van  Winkle  ? " 

"  Oh,  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  "  exclaimed  two  or  three. 

"Oh,  to  be  sure!  that's  Rip  Van  Winkle  yonder,  leaning 
against  the  tree." 

Rip  looked,  and  beheld  a  precise  counterpart  of  himself,  as 
he  went  up  the  mountain :  apparently  as  lazy,  and  certainly  as 
ragged.  The  poor  fellow  was  now  completely  confounded. 
He  doubted  his  own  identity,  and  whether  he  was  himself  or 
another  man.  In  the  midst  of  his  bewilderment,  the  man  in  the 
cocked  hat  demanded  who  he  was,  and  what  was  his  name  ? 

"  God  knows,"  exclaimed  he,  at  his  wit's  end ;  "  I'm  not 
myself  —  I'm  somebody  else  — that 's  me  yonder  —  no — that 's 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE  6l 

somebody  else  got  into  my  shoes  —  I  was  myself  last  night,  but 
I  fell  asleep  on  the  mountain,  and  they've  changed  my  gun, 
and  everything's  changed,  and  I'm  changed,  and  I  can't  tell 
what 's  my  name,  or  who  I  am !  " 

The  bystanders  began  now  to  look  at  each  other,  nod,  wink 
significantly,  and  tap  their  fingers  against  their  foreheads. 
There  was  a  whisper,  also,  about  securing  the  gun,  and  keeping 
the  old  fellow  from  doing  mischief,  at  the  very  suggestion  of 
which  the  self-important  man  in  the  cocked  hat  retired  with 
some  precipitation.  At  this  critical  moment  a  fresh,  comely 
woman  pressed  through  the  throng  to  get  a  peep  at  the  gray- 
bearded  man.  She  had  a  chubby  child  in  her  arms,  which 
frightened  at  his  looks,  began  to  cry.  "  Hush,  Rip,"  cried  she, 
"  hush,  you  little  fool ;  the  old  man  won't  hurt  you."  The  name 
of  the  child,  the  air  of  the  mother,  the  tone  of  her  voice,  all 
awakened  a  train  of  recollections  in  his  mind.  "What  is  your 
name,  my  good  woman  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Judith  Gardenier." 

"And  your  father's  name  ? " 

"Ah,  poor  man,  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  his  name,  but  it's 
twenty  years  since  he  went  away  from  home  with  his  gun,  and 
never  has  been  heard  of  since,  —  his  dog  came  home  without 
him ;  but  whether  he  shot  himself  or  was  carried  away  by  the 
Indians,  nobody  can  tell.  I  was  then  but  a  little  girl." 

Rip  had  but  one  question  more  to  ask ;  and  he  put  it  with 
a  faltering  voice : : —  "  Where 's  your  mother  ?  " 

".Oh,  she  too  had  died  but  a  short  time  since;  she  broke 
a  blood-vessel  in  a  fit  of  passion  at  a  New  England  peddler." 

There  was  a  drop  of  comfort,  at  least,  in  this  intelligence. 
The  honest  man  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  He  caught 
his  daughter  and  her  child  in  Jiis  arms.  "  I  am  your  father ! " 
cried  he  — "  Young  Rip  Van  Winkle  once  —  old  Rip  Van 
Winkle  now!  Does  nobody  know  poor  Rip  Van  Winkle?" 


62  SHORT  STORIES 

All  stood  amazed,  until  an  old  woman,  tottering  out  from 
among  the  crowd,  put  her  hand  to  her  brow,  and  peering  under 
it  in  his  face  for  a  moment,  exclaimed,  "  Sure  enough  it  is  Rip 
Van  Winkle  —  it  is  himself  1  Welcome  home  again,  old  neighbor 
—  Why,  where  have  you  been  these  twenty  long  years  ?  " 

Rip's  story  was  soon  told,  for  the  whole  twenty  years  had 
been  to  him  but  as  one  night.  The  neighbors  stared  when  they 
heard  it ;  some  were  seen  to  wink  at  each  other,  and  put  their 
tongues  in  their  cheeks;  and  the  self-important  man  in  the 
cocked  hat,  who,  when  the  alarm  was  over,  had  returned  to 
the  field,  screwed  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  shook 
his  head  —  upon  which  there  was  a  general  shaking  of  the 
head  throughout  the  assemblage. 

It  was  determined,  however,  to  take  the  opinion  of  old  Peter 
Vanderdonk,  who  was  seen  slowly  advancing  up  the  road.  He 
was  a  descendant  of  the  historian  of  that  name,  who  wrote  one 
of  the  earliest  accounts  of  the  province.  Peter  was  the  most 
ancient  inhabitant  of  the  village,  and  well  versed  in  all  the 
wonderful  events  and  traditions  of  the  neighborhood.  He  recol- 
lected Rip  at  once,  and  corroborated  his  story  in  the  most  satis- 
factory manner.  He  assured  the  company  that  it  was  a  fact, 
handed  down  from  his  ancestor  the  historian,  that  the  Kaatskill 
Mountains  had  always  been  haunted  by  strange  beings.  That 
it  was  affirmed  that  the  great  Hendrick  Hudson,  the  first  dis- 
coverer of  the  river  and  country,  kept  a  kind  of  vigil  there 
every  twenty  years,  with  his  crew  of  the  Half-moon ;  being 
permitted  in  this  way  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  his  enterprise, 
and  keep  a  guardian  eye  upon  the  river  and  the  great  city 
called  by  his  name.  That  his  father  had  once  seen  them  in 
their  old  Dutch  dresses  playing  at  ninepins  in  a  hollow  of  the 
mountain ;  and  that  he  himself  had  heard,  one  summer  after- 
noon, the  sound  of  their  balls  like  distant  peals  of  thunder. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  company  broke  up  and 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE  63 

returned  to  the  more  important  concerns  of  the  election.  Rip's 
daughter  took  him  home  to  live  with  her ;  she  had  a  snug  well- 
furnished  house,  and  a  stout  cheery  farmer  for  a  husband, 
whom  Rip  recollected  for  one  of  the  urchins  that  used  to  climb 
upon  his  back.  As  to  Rip's  son  and  heir,  who  was  the  ditto  of 
himself,  seen  leaning  against  the  tree,  he  was  employed  to  work 
on  the  farm ;  but  evinced  an  hereditary  disposition  to  attend 
to  anything  else  but  his  business. 

Rip  now  resumed  his  old  walks  and  habits ;  he  soon  found 
many  of  his  former  cronies,  though  all  rather  the  worse  for  the 
wear  and  tear  of  time;  and  preferred  making  friends  among 
the  rising  generation,  with  whom  he  soon  grew  into  great  favor. 

Having  nothing  to  do  at  home,  and  being  arrived  at  that 
happy  age  when  a  man  can  be  idle  with  impunity,  he  took  his 
place  once  more  on  the  bench  at  the  inn  door,  and  was  rever- 
enced as  one  of  the  patriarchs  of  the  village,  and  a  chronicle  of 
the  old  times  "  before  the  war."  It  was  some  time  before  he 
could  get  into  the  regular  track  of  gossip,  or  could  be  made  to 
comprehend  the  strange  events  that  had  taken  place  during  his 
torpor.  How  that  there  had  been  a  revolutionary  war  —  that 
the  country  had  thrown  off  the  yoke  of  old  England  —  and 
that,  instead  of  being  a  subject  of  his  Majesty  George  the 
Third,  he  was  now  a  free  citizen  of  the  United  States.  Rip,  in 
fact,  was  no  politician ;  the  changes  of  states  and  empires  made 
but  little  impression  on  him ;  but  there  was  one  species  of 
despotism  under  which  he  had  long  groaned,  and  that  was  — 
petticoat  government.  Happily  that  was  at  an  end;  he  had 
got  his  neck  out  of  the  yoke  of  matrimony,  and  could  go  in 
and  out  whenever  he  pleased,  without  dreading  the  tyranny  of 
Dame  Van  Winkle.  Whenever  her  name  was  mentioned,  how- 
ever, he  shook  his  head,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  cast  up 
his  eyes,  which  might  pass  either  for  an  expression  of  resigna- 
tion to  his  fate,  or  joy  at  his  deliverance. 


64  SHORT  STORIES 

He  used  to  tell  his  story  to  every  stranger  that  arrived  at 
Mr.  Doolittle's  hotel.  He  was  observed,  at  first,  to  vary  on 
some  points  every  time  he  told  it,  which  was,  doubtless,  owing 
to  his  having  so  recently  awaked.  It  at  last  settled  down  pre- 
cisely to  the  tale  I  have  related,  and  not  a  man,  woman,  or 
child  in  the  neighborhood  but  knew  it  by  heart.  Some  always 
pretended  to  doubt  the  reality  of  it,  and  insisted  that  Rip  had 
been  out  of  his  head,  and  that  this  was  one  point  on  which  he 
always  remained  flighty.  The  old  Dutch  inhabitants,  however, 
almost  universally  gave  it  full  credit.  Even  to  this  day  they 
never  hear  a  thunder-storm  of  a  summer  afternoon  about  the 
Kaatskill,  but  they  say  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  crew  are  at 
their  game  of  ninepins ;  and  it  is  a  common  wish  of  all  hen- 
pecked husbands  in  the  neighborhood,  when  life  hangs  heavy 
on  their  hands,  that  they  might  have  a  quieting  draught  out  of 
Rip  Van  Winkle's  flagon. 


IV.   THE  GOLD-BUG  (1843) 
BY  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE  (1809-1849) 

[Setting.  Sullivan's  Island  is  at  the  entrance  of  Charleston 
harbor,  just  east  of  Charleston,  South  Carolina.  It  is  the  site 
of  Fort  Moultrie,  where  Poe  served  as  a  private  soldier  in 
Battery  H  of  the  First  Artillery,  United  States  Army,  from 
November,  1827,  to  November,  1828.  The  atmosphere  of  the 
place  in  Poe's  time  is  well  preserved,  but  no  such  beetle  as  the 
gold-bug  has  been  discovered.  Poe  may  have  found  a  hint  for 
his  story  in  the  wreck  of  the  old  brigantine  Cid  Campeador  off 
the  coast  of  South  Carolina  in  1745,  the  affidavits  of  the  bury- 
ing of  the  treasure  being  still  preserved  in  the  Probate  Court 
Records  of  Charleston. 

Plot.  "  The  Gold- Bug  "  is  recognized  as  one  of  the  world's 
greatest  short  stories  and  marks  a  distinct  advance  in  short- 
story  structure.  The  plot  is  divided  into  two  parts,  which  we 
may  call  mystery  and  solution,  or  complication  and  explication, 
or  rise  and  fall.  The  second  part  begins  with  the  short  para- 
graph on  page  91,  beginning  "When,  at  length,  we  had  con- 
cluded our  examination,"  etc.  Notice  how  skillfully  the  interest 
is  preserved  and  even  heightened  as  the  plot  passes  from  the 
romantic  action  of  part  one  to  the  subtle  exposition  of  part  two. 
These  two  parts  may  be  said  to  represent  the  two  sides  of 
Poe's  genius,  the  imaginative  or  poetical,  and  the  intellectual  or 
scientific.  The  treasure-trove  is  the  symbol  of  the  first,  the 
cryptogram  of  the  second.  Stories  had  been  written  about 
buried  treasures  and  about  cryptograms  before  1843,  but  the 
two  interests  had  never  before  been  combined.  Poe's  example, 
however,  has  borne  abundant  fruit. 

65 


66  SHORT   STORIES 

Characters.  Foe's  strength  did  not  lie  in  the  creation  of 
character.  He  is  so  intent  on  the  development  of  the  windings 
and  unwindings  of  his  story  that  the  characters  become  mere 
puppets,  originated  and  controlled  by  the  needs  of  the  plot. 
Jupiter  deserves  mention  as  one  of  the  earliest  attempts  made 
by  an  American  short-story  writer  to  portray  negro  character. 
But  Jupiter  has  been  so  far  surpassed  in  breadth  and  reality  by 
Joel  Chandler  Harris,  Thomas  Nelson  Page,  and  a  score  of 
others  as  to  be  almost  negligible  in  the  count.  In  defense  of 
Jupiter's  barbarous  lingo,  which  has  been  often  criticized,  it 
should  be  remembered  that  Poe  intended  him  as  a  representa- 
tive of  the  Gullah  (or  Gulla)  dialect.  "  It  is  the  negro  dialect," 
says  Joel  Chandler  Harris,  "  in  its  most  primitive  state  —  the 
'  Gullah '  talk  of  some  of  the  negroes  on  the  Sea  Islands  being 
merely  a  confused  and  untranslatable  mixture  of  English  and 
African  words." 

William  Legrand,  though  not  a  great  or  notable  character  in 
any  way,  is  admirably  fitted  to  do  what  is  required  of  him  in  the 
story.  Like  Poe,  he  was  solitary,  proud,  quick-tempered,  and 
"  subject  to  perverse  moods  of  alternate  enthusiasm  and  melan- 
choly." He  had  also  Poe's  passion  for  puzzles.  Jupiter  is 
hardly  more  than  an  awkward  tool  fashioned  to  display  Le- 
grand's  analytic  and  directive  genius ;  and  the  other  character 
in  the  story,  like  Dr.  Watson  in  Conan  Doyle's  Sherlock  Holmes 
stories,  is  introduced  merely  to  ask  such  questions  as  must  be 
answered  if  the  reader  is  to  follow  intelligently  the  unfolding  of 
the  plot.  They  are  agents  rather  than  characters.] 

What  ho !  what  ho !  this  fellow  is  dancing  mad ! 
He  hath  been  bitten  by  the  Tarantula. 

"  All  in  the  Wrong  " 

Many  years  ago,  I  contracted  an  intimacy,  with  a  Mr.  William 

Legrand.    He  was  of  an  ancient  Huguenot  family,  and  had 

been  wealthy;  but  a  series  of  misfortunes  had  reduced 


THE  GOLD-BUG  6/ 

him  to  want  To  avoid  the  mortification  consequent  upon  his 
disasters,  he  left  New  Orleans,  the  city  of  his  forefathers,  and 
took  up  his  residence  at  Sullivan's  Island,  near  Charleston, 
South  Carolina. 

This  island  is  a  very  singular  one.  It  consists  of  little  else 
than  the  sea  sand,  and  is  about  three  miles  long.  Its  breadth 
at  no  point  exceeds  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  It  is  separated  from 
the  mainland  by  a  scarcely  perceptible  creek,  oozing  its  way 
through  a  wilderness  of  reeds  and  slime,  a  favorite  resort  of 
the  marsh-hen.  The  vegetation,  as  might  be  supposed,  is  scant, 
or  at  least  dwarfish.  No  trees  of  any  magnitude  are  to  be  seen. 
Near  the  western  extremity,  where  Fort  Moultrie  stands,  and 
where  are  some  miserable  frame  buildings,  tenanted  during 
summer  by  the  fugitives  from  Charleston  dust  and  fever,  may 
be  found,  indeed,  the  bristly  palmetto ;  but  the  whole  island, 
with  the  exception  of  this  western  point,  and  a  line  of  hard 
white  beach  on  the  seacoast,  is  covered  with  a  dense  under- 
growth of  the  sweet  myrtle,  so  much  prized  by  the  horticultur- 
ists of  England.  The  shrub  here  often  attains  the  height  of 
fifteen  or  twenty  feet,  and  forms  an  almost  impenetrable 
coppice,  burdening  the  air  with  its  fragrance. 

In  the  utmost  recesses  of  this  coppice,  not  far  from  the 
eastern  or  more  remote  end  of  the  island,  Legrand  had  built 
himself  a  small  hut,  which  he  occupied  when  I  first,  by  mere 
accident,  made  his  acquaintance.  This  soon  ripened  into  friend- 
ship —  for  there  was  much  in  the  recluse  to  excite  interest  and 
esteem.  I  found  him  well  educated,  with  unusual  powers  of 
mind,  but  infected  with  misanthropy,  and  subject  to  perverse 
moods  of  alternate  enthusiasm  and  melancholy.  He  had  with 
him  many  books,  but  rarely  employed  them.  His  chief  amuse- 
ments were  gunning  and  fishing,  or  sauntering  along  the  beach 
and  through  the  myrtles  in  quest  of  shells  or  entomological 
specimens; — his  collection  of  the  latter  might  have  been  envied 


68  SHORT   STORIES 

by  a  Swammerdamm.  In  these  excursions  he  was  usually  accom- 
panied by  an  old  negro,  called  Jupiter,  who  had  been  manu- 
mitted before  the  reverses  of  the  family,  but  who  could  be 
induced,  neither  by  threats  nor  by  promises,  to  abandon  what 
he  considered  his  right  of  attendance  upon  the  footsteps  of  his 
young  "  Massa  Will."  It  is  not  improbable  that  the  relatives 
of  Legrand,  conceiving  him  to  be  somewhat  unsettled  in  intel- 
lect, had  contrived  to  instil  this  obstinacy  into  Jupiter,  with  a 
view  to  the  supervision  and  guardianship  of  the  wanderer. 

The  winters  in  the  latitude  of  Sullivan's  Island  are  seldom 
very  severe,  and  in  the  fall  of  the  year  it  is  a  rare  event  in- 
deed when  a  fire  is  considered  necessary.  About  the  middle  of 
October,  18 — ,  there  occurred,  however,  a  day  of  remarkable 
chilliness.  Just  before  sunset  I  scrambled  my  way  through  the 
evergreens  to  the  hut  of  my  friend,  whom  I  had  not  visited  for 
several  weeks  —  my  residence  being  at  that  time  in  Charleston, 
a  distance  of  nine  miles  from  the  island,  while  the  facilities  of 
passage  and  repassage  were  very  far  behind  those  of  the  present 
day.  Upon  reaching  the  hut  I  rapped,  as  was  my  custom,  and, 
getting  no  reply,  sought  for  the  key  where  I  knew  it  was 
secreted,  unlocked  the  door,  and  went  in.  A  fine  fire  was  blaz- 
ing upon  the  hearth.  It  was  a  novelty,  and  by  no  means  an 
ungrateful  one.  I  threw  off  an  overcoat,  took  an  armchair  by 
the  crackling  logs,  and  awaited  patiently  the  arrival  of  my  hosts. 

Soon  after  dark  they  arrived,  and  gave  me  a  most  cordial 
welcome.  Jupiter,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear,  bustled  about  to 
prepare  some  marsh-hens  for  supper.  Legrand  was  in  one  of 
his  fits  —  how  else  shall  I  term  them  ?  —  of  enthusiasm.  He 
had  found  an  unknown  bivalve,  forming  a  new  genus,  and, 
more  than  this,  he  had  hunted  down  and  secured,  with  Jupi- 
ter's assistance,  a  scarabtzus  which  he  believed  to  be  totally 
new,  but  in  respect  to  which  he  wished  to  have  my  opinion  on 
the  morrow. 


THE  GOLD-BUG  69 

"  And  why  not  to-night  ? "  I  asked,  rubbing  my  hands  over 
the  blaze,  and  wishing  the  whole  tribe  of  scarabtzi  at  the  devil. 

"  Ah,  if  I  had  only  known  you  were  here ! "  said  Legrand, 
"  but  it 's  so  long  since  I  saw  you ;  and  how  could  I  foresee 
that  you  would  pay  me  a  visit  this  very  night  of  all  others? 

As  I  was  coming  home  I  met  Lieutenant  G ,  from  the 

fort,  and,  very  foolishly,  I  lent  him  the  bug;  so  it  will  be 
impossible  for  you  to  see  it  until  the  morning.  Stay  here 
to-night,  and  I  will  send  Jup  down  for  it  at  sunrise.  It  is  the 
loveliest  thing  in  creation  1 " 

"What?  — sunrise?" 

"  Nonsense !  no  !  —  the  bug.  It  is  of  a  brilliant  gold  color 
- — about  the  size  of  a  large  hickory-nut  —  with  two  jet-black 
spots  near  one  extremity  of  the  back,  and  another,  somewhat 
longer,  at  the  other.  The  antenna  are  —  " 

"  Dey  aint  no  tin  in  him,  Massa  Will,  I  keep  a  tellin  on 
you,"  here  interrupted  Jupiter ;  "  de  bug  is  a  goole-bug,  solid, 
ebery  bit  of  him,  inside  and  all,  sep  him  wing  —  neber  feel 
half  so  hebby  a  bug  in  my  life." 

"  Well,  suppose  it  is,  Jup,"  replied  Legrand,  somewhat  more 
earnestly,  it  seemed  to  me,  than  the  case  demanded,  "  is  that 
any  reason  for  your  letting  the  birds  burn  ?  The  color  "  —  here 
he  turned  to  me — "is  really  almost  enough  to  warrant  Jupiter's 
idea.  You  never  saw  a  more  brilliant  metallic  lustre  than  the 
scales  emit  —  but  of  this  you  cannot  judge  till  tomorrow.  In 
the  meantime  I  can  give  you  some  idea  of  the  shape."  Saying 
this,  he  seated  himself  at  a  small  table,  on  which  were  a  pen 
and  ink,  but  no  paper.  He  looked  for  some  in  a  drawer,  but 
found  none. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  he  at  length,  "  this  will  answer  " ;  and 
he  drew  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  a  scrap  of  what  I  took 
to  be  very  dirty  foolscap,  and  made  upon  it  a  rough  drawing 
with  the  pen.  While  he  did  this,  I  retained  my  seat  by  the 


70  SHORT   STORIES 

fire,  for  I  was  still  chilly.  When  the  design  was  complete,  he 
handed  it  to  me  without  rising.  As  I  received  it,  a  low  growl 
was  heard,  succeeded  by  a  scratching  at  the  door.  Jupiter 
opened  it,  and  a  large  Newfoundland,  belonging  to  Legrand, 
rushed  in,  leaped  upon  my  shoulders,  and  loaded  me  with 
caresses ;  for  I  had  shown  him  much  attention  during  previous 
visits.  When  his  gambols  were  over,  I  looked  at  the  paper, 
and,  to  speak  the  truth,  found  myself  not  a  little  puzzled  at 
what  my  friend  had  depicted. 

"  Well  1 "  I  said,  after  contemplating  it  for  some  minutes, 
"this  is  a  strange  scarabczus,  I  must  confess;  new  to  me;  never 
saw  anything  like  it  before — unless  it  was  a  skull,  or  a  death's- 
head,  which  it  more  nearly  resembles  than  anything  else  that 
has  come  under  my  observation." 

"  A  death's-head  1 "  echoed  Legrand  —  "oh  —  yes  —  well,  it 
has  something  of  that  appearance  upon  paper,  no  doubt.  The 
two  upper  black  spots  look  like  eyes,  eh  ?  and  the  longer  one 
at  the  bottom  like  a  mouth  —  and  then  the  shape  of  the  whole 
is  oval." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  I ;  "  but,  Legrand,  I  fear  you  are  no 
artist.  I  must  wait  until  I  see  the  beetle  itself,  if  I  am  to  form 
any  idea  of  its  personal  appearance." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  a  little  nettled,  "I  draw 
tolerably  —  should  do  it  at  least  —  have  had  good  masters, 
and  flatter  myself  that  I  am  not  quite  a  blockhead." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are  joking  then,"  said  I ;  "  this 
is  a  very  passable  skull,  —  indeed,  I  may  say  that  it  is  a  very 
excellent  skull,  according  to  the  vulgar  notions  about  such  speci- 
mens of  physiology  —  and  your  scarabaus  must  be  the  queerest 
scarabaus  in  the  world  if  it  resembles  it.  Why,  we  may  get  up 
a  very  thrilling  bit  of  superstition  upon  this  hint.  I  presume 
you  will  call  the  bug  scarabceus  caput  hominis?  or  something  of 
1  Scarabceus  caput  hominis,  "  death's-head  beetle." 


THE  GOLD-BUG  71 

that  kind  —  there  are  many  similar  titles  in  the  Natural  His- 
tories. But  where  are  the  antenna  you  spoke  of  ? " 

"  The  antenna  \ "  said  Legrand,  who  seemed  to  be  getting 
unaccountably  warm  upon  the  subject ;  "  I  am  sure  you  must 
see  the  antenna.  I  made  them  as  distinct  as  they  are  in  the 
original  insect,  and  I  presume  that  is  sufficient." 

"  Well,  well,"  I  said,  "  perhaps  you  have  —  still  I  don't  sec 
them";  and  I  handed  him  the  paper  without  additional  remark, 
not  wishing  to  ruffle  his  temper;  but  I  was  much  surprised 
at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken ;  his  ill  humor  puzzled  me  —  and 
as  for  the  drawing  of  the  beetle,  there  were  positively  no  an- 
tenna visible,  and  the  whole  did  bear  a  very  close  resemblance 
to  the  ordinary  cuts  of  a  death's-head. 

He  received  the  paper  very  peevishly,  and  was  about  to 
crumple  it,  apparently  to  throw  it  in  the  fire,  when  a  casual 
glance  at  the  design  seemed  suddenly  to  rivet  his  attention.  In 
an  instant  his  face  grew  violently  red  —  in  another  as  excessively 
pale.  For  some  minutes  he  continued  to  scrutinize  the  drawing 
minutely  where  he  sat.  At  length  he  arose,  took  a  candle  from 
the  table,  and  proceeded  to  seat  himself  upon  a  sea-chest  in  the 
farthest  comer  of  the  room.  Here  again  he  made  an  anxious 
examination  of  the  paper ;  turning  it  in  all  directions.  He  said 
nothing,  however,  and  his  conduct  greatly  astonished  me ;  yet 
I  thought  it  prudent  not  to  exacerbate  the  growing  moodiness 
of  his  temper  by  any  comment.  Presently  he  took  from  his 
coat  pocket  a  wallet,  placed  the  paper  carefully  in  it,  and 
deposited  both  in  a  writing-desk,  which  he  locked*  He  now 
grew  more  composed  in  his  demeanor;  but  his  original  air  of 
enthusiasm  had  quite  disappeared.  Yet  he  seemed  not  so  much 
sulky  as  abstracted.  As  the  evening  wore  away  he  became 
more  and  more  absorbed  in  revery,  from  which  no  sallies  of 
mine  could  arouse  him.  It  had  been  my  intention  to  pass  the 
night  at  the  hut,  as  I  had  frequently  done  before,  but,  seeing 


72  SHORT   STORIES 

my  host  in  this  mood,  I  deemed  it  proper  to  take  leave.  He 
did  not  press  me  to  remain,  but,  as  I  departed,  he  shook  my 
hand  with  even  more  than  his  usual  cordiality. 

It  was  about  a  month  after  this  (and  during  the  interval  I 
had  seen  nothing  of  Legrand)  when  I  received  a  visit,  at 
Charleston,  from  his  man,  Jupiter.  I  had  never  seen  the  good 
old  negro  look  so  dispirited,  and  I  feared  that  some  serious 
disaster  had  befallen  my  friend. 

"  Well,  Jup,"  said  I,  "  what  is  the  matter  now  ?  —  how  is 
your  master  ? " 

"  Why,  to  speak  de  troof,  massa,  him  not  so  berry  well  as 
mought  be." 

"  Not  well  1  I  am  truly  sorry  to  hear  it.  What  does  he 
complain  of  ? " 

"  Dar !  dat  's  it !  —  him  neber  plain  of  notin  —  but  him  berry 
sick  for  all  dat."  .,.:^ 

"  Very  sick,  Jupiter !  —  why  did  n't  you  say  so  at  once  ?  Is 
he  confined  to  bed  ? " 

"  No,  dat  he  aint !  — -he  aint  find  nowhar  —  dat 's  just  whar 
de  shoe  pinch  —  my  mind  is  got  to  be  berry  hebby  bout  poor 
Massa  Will." 

"  Jupiter,  I  should  like  to  understand  what  it  is  you  are  talk- 
ing about  You  say  your  master  is  sick.  Has  n't  he  told  you 
what  ails  him  ?  "  '..  .•  . 

"  Why,  massa,  taint  worf  while  for  to  git  mad  bout  de  matter 
—  Massa  Will  say  nofBn  at  all  aint  de  matter  wid  him  —  but 
den.  what  make  him  go  bout  looking  dis  here  way,  wid  he  head 
down  and  he  soldiers  up,  and  as  white  as  a  gose  ?  And  then 
he  keeps  a  syphon  all  de  time  —  " 

"  Keeps  a  what,  Jupiter  ? " 

"  Keeps  a  syphon  wid  de  figgurs  on  de  slate  —  de  queerest 
figgurs  I  ebber  did  see.  Ise  gittin  to  be  skeered,  I  tell  you. 
Hab  for  to  keep  mighty  tight  eye  pon  him  noovers.  Todder 


THE  GOLD-BUG  73 

day  he  gib  me  slip  fore  de  sun  up  and  was  gone  de  whole  ob 
de  blessed  day.  I  had  a  big  stick  ready  cut  for  to  gib  him 

d d  good  beating  when  he  did  come  —  but  Ise  sich  a  fool 

dat  I  had  n't  de  heart  arter  all  —  he  look  so  berry  poorly." 

"  Eh  ?  —  what  ?  —  ah,  yes  1  —  upon  the  whole  I  think  you 
had  better  not  be  too  severe  with  the  poor  fellow  —  don't  flog 
him,  Jupiter  —  he  can't  very  well  stand  it  —  but  can  you  form 
no  idea  of  what  has  occasioned  this  illness,  or  rather  this 
change  of  conduct?  Has  anything  unpleasant  happened  since 
I  saw  you  ? " 

"  No,  massa,  dey  aint  bin  noffin  onpleasant  since  den  —  't  was 
fore  den  I'm  feared  —  't  was  de  berry  day  you  was  dare." 

"  How  ?  what  do  you  mean  ? " 

"Why,  massa,  I  mean  de  bug  —  dare  now." 

"The  what?" 

"  De  bug —  I'm  berry  sartain  dat  Massa  Will  bin  bit  some- 
where bout  de  head  by  dat  goole-bug." 

"  And  what  cause  have  you,  Jupiter,  for  such  a  supposition  ? " 

"  Claws  enuff,  massa,  and  mouff  too.  I  nebber  did  see  sich 

a  d d  bug  —  he  kick  and  he  bite  every  ting  what  cum 

near  him.  Massa  Will  cotch  him  fuss,  but  had  for  to  let  him 
go  gin  mighty  quick,  I  tell  you  —  den  was  de  time  he  must  ha 
got  de  bite.  I  didn't  like  de  look  ob  de  bug  mouff,  myself, 
no  how,  so  I  wouldn't  take  hold  ob  him  wid  my  finger,  but 
I  cotch  him  wid  a  piece  ob  paper  dat  I  found.  I  rap  him 
up  in  de  paper  and  stuff  piece  ob  it  in  he  mouff  —  dat  was 
de  way." 

"  And  you  think,  then,  that  your  master  was  really  bitten  by 
the  beetle,  and  that  the  bite  made  him  sick  ? " 

"  I  don't  tink  noffin  about  it  —  I  nose  it  What  make  him 
dream  bout  de  goole  so  much,  if  taint  cause  he  bit  by  de 
goole-bug  ?  Ise  heerd  bout  dem  goole-bugs  fore  dis." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  he  dreams  about  gold  ? " 


74  SHORT  STORIES 

"  How  I  know  ?  why,  cause  he  talk  about  it  in  he  sleep  — 
dat's  how  I  nose." 

"  Well,  Jup,  perhaps  you  are  right ;  but  to  what  fortunate 
circumstances  am  I  to  attribute  the  honor  of  a  visit  from  you 
to-day  ? " 

"  What  de  matter,  massa  ? " 

"  Did  you  bring  any  message  from  Mr.  Legrand  ?  " 

"  No,  massa,  I  bring  dis  here  pissel "  ;  and  here  Jupiter 
handed  me  a  note  which  ran  thus : 

MY  DEAR :  Why  have  I  not  seen  you  for  so  long  a  time  ? 

I  hope  you  have  not  been  so  foolish  as  to  take  offense  at  any  little 
brusquerie  of  mine ;  but  no,  that  is  improbable. 

Since  I  saw  you  I  have  had  great  cause  for  anxiety.  I  have  some- 
thing to  tell  you,  yet  scarcely  know  how  to  tell  it,  or  whether  I  should 
tell  it  at  all. 

I  have  not  been  quite  well  for  some  days  past,  and  poor  old  Jup 
annoys  me,  almost  beyond  endurance,  by  his  well-meant  attentions. 
Would  you  believe  it?  —  he  had  prepared  a  huge  stick,  the  other 
day,  with  which  to  chastise  me  for  giving  him  the  slip,  and  spending 
the  day,  soluf,  among  the  hills  on  the  mainland.  I  verily  believe 
that  my  ill  looks  alone  saved  me  a  flogging. 

I  have  made  no  addition  to  my  cabinet  since  we  met. 

If  you  can,  in  any  way,  make  it  convenient,  come  over  with 
Jupiter.  Do  come.  I  wish  to  see  you  tonight,  upon  business  of 
importance.  I  assure  you  that  it  is  of  the  highest  importance. 

Ever  yours, 

WILLIAM  LEGRAND 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  this  note  which  gave  me 
great  uneasiness.  Its  whole  style  differed  materially  from  that 
of  Legrand.  What  could  he  be  dreaming  of?  What  new 
crotchet  possessed  his  excitable  brain  ?  What  "  business  of  the 
highest  importance  "  could  he  possibly  have  to  transact  ?  Jupi- 
ter's account  of  him  boded  no  good.  I  dreaded  lest  the  con- 
tinued pressure  of  misfortune  had,  at  length,  fairly  unsettled  the 


THE  GOLD-BUG  75 

reason  of  my  friend.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  therefore, 
I  prepared  to  accompany  the  negro. 

Upon  reaching  the  wharf,  -I  noticed  a  scythe  and  three 
spades,  all  apparently  new,  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat  in 
which  we  were  to  embark. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this,  Jup  ?  "    I  inquired. 

"  Him  syfe,  massa,  and  spade." 

"  Very  true ;  but  what  are  they  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Him  de  syfe  and  de  spade  what  Massa  Will  sis  pon  my 
buying  for  him  in  de  town,  and  de  debbiPs  own  lot  of  money 
I  had  to  gib  for  em." 

"  But  what,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  mysterious,  is  your 
'  Massa  Will '  going  to  do  with  scythes  and  spades  ?  " 

"  Dat  's  more  dan  /  know,  and  debbil  take  me  if  I  don't 
believe  'tis  more  dan  he  know,  too.  But  it's  all  cum  ob  de 
bug." 

Finding  that  no  satisfaction  was  to  be  obtained  of  Jupiter, 
whose  whole  intellect  seemed  to  be  absorbed  by  "  de  bug,"  I 
now  stepped  into  the  boat  and  made  sail.  With  a  fair  and 
strong  breeze  we  soon  ran  into  the  little  cove  to  the  northward 
of  Fort  Moultrie,  and  a  walk  of  some  two  miles  brought  us  to 
the  hut.  It  was  about  three  in  the  afternoon  when  we  arrived. 
Legrand  had  been  awaiting  us  in  eager  expectation.  He  grasped 
my  hand  with  a  nervous  empressement,  which  alarmed  me  and 
strengthened  the  suspicions  already  entertained.  His  counte- 
nance was  pale  even  to  ghastliness,  and  his  deep-set  eyes  glared 
with  unnatural  lustre.  After  some  inquiries  respecting  his 
health,  I  asked  him,  not  knowing  what  better  to  say,  if  he  had 
yet  obtained  the  scarabizus  from  Lieutenant  G . 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  coloring  violently,  "  I  got  it  from  him 
the  next  morning.  Nothing  should  tempt  me  to  part  with  that 
scarabceus.  Do  you  know  that  Jupiter  is  quite  right  about  it  ? " 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  I  asked,  with  a  sad  foreboding  at  heart. 


76  SHORT  STORIES 

"  In  supposing  it  to  be  a  bug  of  real  gold"  He  said  this 
with  an  air  of  profound  seriousness,  and  I  felt  inexpressibly 
shocked. 

"  This  bug  is  to  make  my  fortune,"  he  continued,  with  a 
triumphant  smile,  "  to  reinstate  me  in  my  family  possessions. 
Is  it  any  wonder,  then,  that  I  prize  it?  Since  Fortune  has 
thought  fit  to  bestow  it  upon  me,  I  have  only  to  use  it  property 
and  I  shall  arrive  at  the  gold  of  which  it  is  the  index.  Jupiter, 
bring  me  that  scarabaus  \  " 

"  What !  de  bug,  massa  ?  I'd  rudder  not  go  fer  trubble  dat 
bug  —  you  mus  git  him  for  your  own  self."  Hereupon  Legrand 
arose,  with  a  grave  and  stately  air,  and  brought  me  the  beetle 
from  a  glass  case  in  which  it  was  enclosed.  It  was  a  beautiful 
scarab&us,  and,  at  that  time,  unknown  to  naturalists  —  of  course 
a  great  prize  in  a  scientific  point  of  view.  There  were  two 
round,  black  spots  near  one  extremity  of  the  back,  and  a  long 
one  near  the  other.  The  scales  were  exceedingly  hard  and 
glossy,  with  all  the  appearance  of  burnished  gold.  The  weight 
of  the  insect  was  very  remarkable,  and,  taking  all  things  into 
consideration,  I  could  hardly  blame  Jupiter  for  his  opinion 
respecting  it ;  but  what  to  make  of  Legrand's  agreement  with 
that  opinion,  I  could  not,  for  the  life  of  me,  tell. 

"  I  sent  for  you,"  said  he,  in  a  grandiloquent  tone,  when  I 
had  completed  my  examination  of  the  beetle,  "  I  sent  for  you 
that  I  might  have  your  counsel  and  assistance  in  furthering  the 
views  of  Fate  and  of  the  bug  —  " 

"  My  dear  Legrand,"  I  cried,  interrupting  him,  "  you  are 
certainly  unwell,  and  had  better  use  some  little  precautions. 
You  shall  go  to  bed,  and  I  will  remain  with  you  a  few  days, 
until  you  get  over  this.  You  are  feverish  and  —  " 

"  Feel  my  pulse,"  said  he. 

I  felt  it,  and,  to  say  the  truth,  found  not  the  slightest 
indication  of  fever. 


THE  GOLD-BUG  77 

"  But  you  may  be  ill,  and  yet  have  no  fever.  Allow  me 
this  once  to  prescribe  for  you.  In  the  first  place,  go  to  bed. 
In  the  next  —  " 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  he  interposed,  "  I  am  as  well  as  I  can 
expect  to  be  under  the  excitement  which  I  suffer.  If  you  really 
wish  me  well,  you  will  relieve  this  excitement" 

"  And  how  is  this  to  be  done  ? " 

"  Very  easily.  Jupiter  and  myself  are  going  upon  an  expe- 
dition into  the  hills,  upon  the  mainland,  and,  in  this  expedition, 
we  shall  need  the  aid  of  some  person  in  whom  we  can  confide. 
You  are  the  only  one  we  can  trust.  Whether  we  succeed  or 
fail,  the  excitement  which  you  now  perceive  in  me  will  be 
equally  allayed." 

"  I  am  anxious  to  oblige  you  in  any  way,"  I  replied ;  "  but 
do  you  mean  to  say  that  this  infernal  beetle  has  any  connection 
with  your  expedition  into  the  hills." 

"  It  has." 

"  Then,  Legrand,  I  can  become  a  party  to  no  such  absurd 
proceeding." 

"  I  am  sorry  —  very  sorry  —  for  we  shall  have  to  try  it  by 
ourselves." 

"Try  it  by  yourselves!  The  man  is  surely  mad!  —  but 
stay  —  how  long  do  you  propose  to  be  absent?" 

"  Probably  all  night.  We  shall  start  immediately,  and  be 
back,  at  all  events,  by  sunrise." 

"  And  will  you  promise  me,  upon  your  honor,  that  when  this 
freak  of  yours  is  over  and  the  bug  business  (good  God ! )  settled 
to  your  satisfaction,  you  will  then  return  home  and  follow  my 
advice  implicitly,  as  that  of  your  physician  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  promise;  and  now  let  us  be  off,  for  we  have  no 
time  to  lose." 

With  a  heavy  heart  I  accompanied  my  friend.  We  started 
about  four  o'clock  —  Legrand,  Jupiter,  the  dog,  and  myself. 


78  SHORT  STORIES 

Jupiter  had  with  him  the  scythe  and  spades  —  the  whole  of 
which  he  insisted  upon  carrying,  more  through  fear,  it  seemed 
to  me,  of  trusting  either  of  the  implements  within  reach  of  his 
master,  than  from  any  excess  of  industry  or  complaisance.  His 

demeanor  was  dogged  in  the  extreme,  and  "  dat  d d  bug  " 

were  the  sole  words  which  escaped  his  lips  during  the  journey. 
For  my  own  part,  I  had  charge  of  a  couple  of  dark  lanterns, 
while  Legrand  contented  himself  with  the  scarabceus,  which  he 
carried  attached  to  the  end  of  a  bit  of  whip-cord ;  twirling  it  to 
and  fro,  with  the  air  of  a  conjuror,  as  he  went.  When  I 
observed  this  last,  plain  evidence  of  my  friend's  aberration  of 
mind,  I  could  scarcely  refrain  from  tears.  I  thought  it  best, 
however,  to  humor  his  fancy,  at  least  for  the  present,  or  until 
I  could  adopt  some  more  energetic  measures  with  a  chance  of 
success.  In  the  meantime  I  endeavored,  but  all  in  vain,  to  sound 
him  in  regard  to  the  object  of  the  expedition.  Having  succeeded 
in  inducing  me  to  accompany  him,  he  seemed  unwilling  to  hold 
conversation  upon  any  topic  of  minor  importance,  and  to  all  my 
questions  vouchsafed  no  other  reply  than  "We  shall  see  1 " 

We  crossed  the  creek  at  the  head  of  the  island  by  means  of 
a  skiff,  and,  ascending  the  high  grounds  on  the  shore  of  the 
mainland,  proceeded  in  a  northwesterly  direction,  through  a 
tract  of  country  excessively  wild  and  desolate,  where  no  trace 
of  a  human  footstep  was  to  be  seen.  Legrand  led  the  way 
with  decision ;  pausing  only  for  an  instant,  here  and  there,  to 
consult  what  appeared  to  be  certain  landmarks  of  his  own 
contrivance  upon  a  former  occasion.  .  -.. 

In  this  manner  we  journeyed  for  about  two  hours,  and  the 
sun  was  just  setting  when  we  entered  a  region  infinitely  more 
dreary  than  any  yet  seen.  It  was  a  species  of  table-land,  near 
the  summit  of  an  almost  inaccessible  hill,  densely  wooded  from 
base  to  pinnacle,  and  interspersed  with  huge  crags  that  appeared 
to  lie  loosely  upon  the  soil,  and  in  many  cases  were  prevented 


THE  GOLD-BUG  79 

from  precipitating  themselves  into  the  valleys  below  merely  by 
the  support  of  the  trees  against  which  they  reclined.  Deep 
ravines,  in  various  directions,  gave  an  air  of  still  sterner  solem- 
nity to  the  scene. 

The  natural  platform  to  which  we  had  clambered  was  thickly 
overgrown  with  brambles,  through  which  we  soon  discovered 
that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  force  our  way  but  for  the 
scythe ;  and  Jupiter,  by  direction  of  his  master,  proceeded  to 
clear  for  us  a  path  to  the  foot  of  an  immensely  large  tulip-tree, 
which  stood,  with  some  eight  or  ten  oaks,  upon  the  level,  and 
far  surpassed  them  all,  and  all  other  trees  which  I  had  then  ever 
seen,  in  the  beauty  of  its  foliage  and  form,  in  the  wide  spread  of 
its  branches,  and  in  the  general  majesty  of  its  appearance.  When 
we  reached  this  tree,  Legrand  turned  to  Jupiter,  and  asked  him 
if  he  thought  he  could  climb  it.  The  old  man  seemed  a  little 
staggered  by  the  question,  and  for  some  moments  made  no 
reply.  At  length  he  approached  the  huge  trunk,  walked  slowly 
around  it,  and  examined  it  with  minute  attention.  When  he  had 
completed  his  scrutiny,  he  merely  said : 

"  Yes,  massa,  Jup  climb  any  tree  he  ebber  see  in  he  life." 

"  Then  up  with  you  as  soon  as  possible,  for  it  will  soon  be  too 
dark  to  see  what  we  are  about." 

"  How  far  mus  go  up,  massa  ? "  inquired  Jupiter. 

"  Get  up  the  main  trunk  first,  and  then  I  will  tell  you  which 
way  to  go  —  and  here  —  stop  !  take  this  beetle  with  you." 

"  De  bug,  Massa  Will !  —  de  goole-bug  I  "  cried  the  negro, 
drawing  back  in  dismay  — "  what  for  mus  tote  de  bug  way  up 
de  tree  ?  —  d n  if  I  do  !  " 

"  If  you  are  afraid,  Jup,  a  great  big  negro  like  you,  to  take 
hold  of  a  harmless  little  dead  beetle,  why,  you  can  carry  it  up 
by  this  string  —  but,  if  you  do  not  take  it  up  with  you  in  some 
way,  I  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of  breaking  your  head  with 
this  shovel." 


80  SHORT  STORIES 

"  What  de  matter  now,  massa  ? "  said  Jup,  evidently  shamed 
into  compliance ;  "  always  want  fur  to  raise  fuss  wid  old  nigger. 
Was  only  funnin  anyhow.  Me  feered  de  bug  1  what  I  keer  for 
de  bug  ? "  Here  he  took  cautiously  hold  of  the  extreme  end  of 
the  string,  and,  maintaining  the  insect  as  far  from  his  person  as 
circumstances  would  permit,  prepared  to  ascend  the  tree. 

In  youth,  the  tulip-tree,  or  Liriodendron  Tulipifera,  the  most 
magnificent  of  American  foresters,  has  a  trunk  peculiarly  smooth, 
and  often  rises  to  a  great  height  without  lateral  branches ;  but. 
in  its  riper  age  the  bark  becomes  gnarled  and  uneven  while 
many  short  limbs  make  their  appearance  on  the  stem.  Thus 
the  difficulty  of  ascension,  in  the  present  case,  lay  more  in  sem- 
blance than  in  reality.  Embracing  the  huge  cylinder,  as  closely 
as  possible,  with  his  arms  and  knees,  seizing  with  his  hands 
some  projections,  and  resting  his  naked  toes  upon  others,  Jupi- 
ter, after  one  or  two  narrow  escapes  from  falling,  at  length 
wriggled  himself  into  the  first  great  fork,  and  seemed  to  consider 
the  whole  business  as  virtually  accomplished.  The  risk  of  the 
achievement  was,  in  fact,  now  over,  although  the  climber  was 
some  sixty  or  seventy  feet  from  the  ground. 

"  Which  way  mus  go  now,  Massa  Will  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Keep  up  the  largest  branch,  —  the  one  on  this  side,"  said 
Legrand.  The  negro  obeyed  him  promptly,  and  apparently  with 
but  little  trouble,  ascending  higher  and  higher,  until  no  glimpse  of 
his  squat  figure  could  be  obtained  through  the  dense  foliage  which 
enveloped  it.  Presently  his  voice  was  heard  in  a  sort  of  halloo. 

"  How  much  fudder  is  got  for  go  ? " 

"  How  high  up  are  you  ? "  asked  Legrand. 

"  Ebber  so  fur,"  replied  the  negro ;  "  can  see  de  sky  fru  de 
top  ob  de  tree." 

"  Never  mind  the  sky,  but  attend  to  what  I  say.  Look  down 
the  trunk  and  count  the  limbs  below  you  on  this  side.  How 
many  limbs  have  you  passed  ?  " 


THE  GOLD-BUG  8 1 

"  One,  two,  tree,  four,  fibe  —  I  done  pass  fibe  big  limb, 
massa,  pon  dis  side." 

"  Then  go  one  limb  higher." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  voice  was  heard  again,  announcing  that 
the  seventh  limb  was  attained. 

"  Now,  Jup,"  cried  Legrand,  evidently  much  excited,  "  I  want 
you  to  work  your  way  out  upon  that  limb  as  far  as  you  can.  If 
you  see  anything  strange,  let  me  know." 

By  this  time  what  little  doubt  I  might  have  entertained  of  my 
poor  friend's  insanity  was  put  finally  at  rest.  I  had  no  alternative 
but  to  conclude  him  stricken  with  lunacy,  and  I  became  seriously 
anxious  about  getting  him  home.  While  I  was  pondering  upon 
what  was  best  to  be  done,  Jupiter's  voice  was  again  heard. 

"  Mos  feerd  for  to  ventur  pon  dis  limb  berry  far  —  't  is  dead 
limb  putty  much  all  de  way." 

"  Did  you  say  it  was  a  dead  limb,  Jupiter  ? "  cried  Legrand 
in  a  quavering  voice. 

"  Yes,  massa,  him  dead  as  de  door-nail  —  done  up  for  sar- 
tain  —  done  departed  dis  here  life." 

"  What  in  the  name  of  heaven  shall  I  do  ? "  asked  Legrand, 
seemingly  in  the  greatest  distress. 

"  Do  I  "  said  I,  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  interpose  a  word, 
"  why  come  home  and  go  to  bed.  Come  now !  —  that 's  a  fine 
fellow.  It's  getting  late,  and,  besides,  you  remember  your 
promise." 

"  Jupiter,"  cried  he,  without  heeding  me  in  the  least,  "  do  you 
hear  me  ? " 

"  Yes,  Massa  Will,  hear  you  ebber  so  plain." 

"  Try  the  wood  well,  then,  with  your  knife,  and  see  if  you 
think  it  very  rotten." 

"  Him  rotten,  massa,  sure  miff,"  replied  the  negro  in  a  few 
moments,  "but  not  so  berry  rotten  as  mought  be.  Mought 
ventur  out  leetle  way  pon  de  limb  by  myself,  dat  's  true." 


82  SHORT  STORIES 

"  By  yourself !  —  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  mean  de  bug.  '  T  is  berry  hebby  bug.  Spose  I  drop 
him  down  fuss,  and  den  de  limb  won't  break  wid  just  de  weight 
ob  one  nigger." 

"  You  infernal  scoundrel !  "  cried  Legrand,  apparently  much 
relieved,  "  what  do  you  mean  by  telling  me  such  nonsense  as 
that  ?  As  sure  as  you  let  that  beetle  fall,  I  '11  break  your  neck. 
Look  here,  Jupiter !  do  you  hear  me  ? " 

"  Yes,  massa,  need  n't  hollo  at  poor  nigger  dat  style." 

"  Well !  now  listen  !  —  if  you  will  venture  out  on  the  limb  as 
far  as  you  think  safe,  and  not  let  go  the  beetle,  I  '11  make  you  a 
present  of  a  silver  dollar  as  soon  as  you  get  down." 

"  I'm  gwine,  Massa  Will  —  deed  I  is,"  replied  the  negro  very 
promptly  —  "  most  out  to  the  eend  now." 

"  Out  to  the  end!"  here  fairly  screamed  Legrand,  "do  you 
say  you  are  out  to  the  end  of  that  limb  ? " 

"  Soon  be  to  de  eend,  massa,  —  o-o-o-o-oh  !  Lorgol-a-marcy  ! 
what  is  dis  here  pon  de  tree  ?  " 

11  Well !  "  cried  Legrand,  highly  delighted,  "  what  is  it  ? " 

"Why,  taint  nuffin  but  a  skull  —  somebody  bin  lef  him 
head  up  de  tree,  and  de  crows  done  gobble  ebery  bit  ob  de 
meat  off." 

"  A  skull,  you  say  1  —  very  well !  —  how  is  it  fastened  to  the 
limb  ?  —  what  holds  it  on  ? " 

"  Sure  miff,  massa ;  mus  look.  Why,  dis  berry  curous  sar- 
cumstance,  pon  my  word  —  dare 's  a  great  big  nail  in  de  skull, 
what  fastens  ob  it  on  to  de  tree." 

"Well  now,  Jupiter,  do  exactly  as  I  tell  you  —  do  you  hear?" 

"  Yes,  massa." 

"  Pay  attention,  then !  —  find  the  left  eye  of  the  skull." 

"  Hum  !  hoo  1  dat 's  good  !  why,  dar  aint  no  eye  lef  at  all." 

"  Curse  your  stupidity  1  do  you  know  your  right  hand  from 
your  left  ? " 


THE  GOLD-BUG  83 

"  Yes,  I  nose  dat  —  nose  all  bout  dat  —  't  is  my  lef  hand 
what  I  chops  de  wood  wid." 

"  To  be  sure !  you  are  left-handed ;  and  your  left  eye  is  on 
the  same  side  as  your  left  hand.  Now,  I  suppose  you  can  find 
the  left  eye  of  the  skull,  or  the  place  where  the  left  eye  has 
been.  Have  you  found  it?" 

Here  was  a  long  pause.  At  length  the  negro  asked,  "  Is  de 
lef  eye  of  de  skull  pon  de  same  side  as  de  lef  hand  of  de 
skull,  too  ?  —  cause  de  skull  aint  got  not  a  bit  ob  a  hand  at 
all  —  nebber  mind  !  I  got  de  lef  eye  now  —  here  de  lef  eye  1 
what  must  do  wid  it?" 

"  Let  the  beetle  drop  through  it,  as  far  as  the  string  will 
reach  —  but  be  careful  and  not  let  go  your  hold  of  the 
string." 

"  All  dat  done,  Massa  Will ;  mighty  easy  ting  for  to  put  de 
bug  fru  de  hole  —  look  out  for  him  dar  below  !  " 

During  this  colloquy  no  portion  of  Jupiter's  person  could 
be  seen ;  but  the  beetle,  which  he  had  suffered  to  descend, 
was  now  visible  at  the  end  of  the  string,  and  glistened  like  a 
globe  of  burnished  gold  in  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun, 
some  of  which  still  faintly  illumined  the  eminence  upon  which 
we  stood.  The  scarabceus  hung  quite  clear  of  any  branches, 
and,  if  allowed  to  fall,  would  have  fallen  at  our  feet.  Legrand 
immediately  took  the  scythe,  and  cleared  with  it  a  circular 
space,  three  or  four  yards  in  diameter,  just  beneath  the  insect, 
and,  having  accomplished  this,  ordered  Jupiter  to  let  go  the 
string  and  come  down  from  the  tree. 

Driving  a  peg,  with  great  nicety,  into  the  ground  at  the 
precise  spot  where  the  beetle  fell,  my  friend  now  produced 
from  his  pocket  a  tape-measure.  Fastening  one  end  of  this  at 
that  point  of  the  trunk  of  the  tree  which  was  nearest  the  peg, 
he  unrolled  it  till  it  reached  the  peg,  and  thence  farther  un- 
rolled it,  in  the  direction  already  established  by  the  two  points 


84  SHORT  STORIES 

of  the  tree  and  the  peg,  for  the  distance  of  fifty  feet  —  Jupiter 
clearing  away  the  brambles  with  the  scythe.  At  the  spot  thus 
attained  a  second  peg  was  driven,  and  about  this,  as  a  centre, 
a  rude  circle,  about  four  feet  in  diameter,  described.  Taking 
now  a  spade  himself,  and  giving  one  to  Jupiter  and  one  to  me, 
Legrand  begged  us  to  set  about  digging  as  quickly  as  possible. 

To  speak  the  truth,  I  had  no  especial  relish  for  such  amuse- 
ment at  any  time,  and,  at  that  particular  moment,  would  most 
willingly  have  declined  it ;  for  the  night  was  coming  on,  and  I 
felt  much  fatigued  with  the  exercise  already  taken ;  but  I  saw 
no  mode  of  escape,  and  was  fearful  of  disturbing  my  poor 
friend's  equanimity  by  a  refusal.  Could  I  have  depended,  in- 
deed, upon  Jupiter's  aid,  I  would  have  had  no  hesitation  in 
attempting  to  get  the  lunatic  home  by  force ;  but  I  was  too 
well  assured  of  the  old  negro's  disposition  to  hope  that  he 
would  assist  me,  under  any  circumstances,  in  a  personal  con- 
test with  his  master.  I  made  no  doubt  that  the  latter  had  been 
infected  with  some  of  the  innumerable  Southern  superstitions 
about  money  buried,  and  that  his  fantasy  had  received  con- 
firmation by  the  finding  of  the  scarabczus,  or,  perhaps,  by  Jupi- 
ter's obstinacy  in  maintaining  it  to  be  "a  bug  of  real  gold." 
A  mind  disposed  to  lunacy  would  readily  be  led  away  by  such 
suggestions,  especially  if  chiming  in  with  favorite  preconceived 
ideas ;  and  then  I  called  to  mind  the  poor  fellow's  speech  about 
the  beetle's  being  the  "  index  of  his  fortune."  Upon  the  whole, 
I  was  sadly  vexed  and  puzzled,  but  at  length  I  concluded  to 
make  a  virtue  of  necessity  —  to  dig  with  a  good  will,  and  thus 
the  sooner  to  convince  the  visionary,  by  ocular  demonstration, 
of  the  fallacy  of  the  opinions  he  entertained. 

The  lanterns  having  been  lit,  we  all  fell  to  work  with  a  zeal 
worthy  a  more  rational  cause ;  and,  as  the  glare  fell  upon  our 
persons  and  implements,  I  could  not  help  thinking  how  pictur- 
esque a  group  we  composed,  and  how  strange  and  suspicious 


THE  GOLD-BUG  85 

our  labors  must  have  appeared  to  any  interloper  who,  by 
chance,  might  have  stumbled  upon  our  whereabouts. 

We  dug  very  steadily  for  two  hours.  Little  was  said;  and 
our  chief  embarrassment  lay  in  the  yelpings  of  the  dog,  who 
took  exceeding  interest  in  our  proceedings.  He,  at  length,  be- 
came so  obstreperous  that  we  grew  fearful  of  his  giving  the 
alarm  to  some  stragglers  in  the  vicinity;  or,  rather,  this  was 
the  apprehension  of  Legrand;  for  myself,  I  should  have  re- 
joiced at  any  interruption  which  might  have  enabled  me  to  get 
the  wanderer  home.  The  noise  was,  at  length,  very  effectually 
silenced  by  Jupiter,  who,  getting  out  of  the  hole  with  a  dogged 
air  of  deliberation,  tied  the  brute's  mouth  up  with  one  of  his 
suspenders,  and  then  returned,  with  a  grave  chuckle,  to  his  task. 

When  the  time  mentioned  had  expired,  we  had  reached  a 
depth  of  five  feet,  and  yet  no  signs  of  any  treasure  became 
manifest.  A  general  pause  ensued,  and  I  began  to  hope  that 
the  farce  was  at  an  end.  Legrand,  however,  although  evidently 
much  disconcerted,  wiped  his  brow  thoughtfully  and  recom- 
menced. We  had  excavated  the  entire  circle  of  four  feet  diame- 
ter, and  now  we  slightly  enlarged  the  limit,  and  went  to  the 
farther  depth  of  two  feet.  Still  nothing  appeared.  The  gold- 
seeker,  whom  I  sincerely  pitied,  at  length  clambered  from  the 
pit,  with  the  bitterest  disappointment  imprinted  upon  every 
feature,  and  proceeded  slowly  and  reluctantly  to  put  on  his 
coat,  which  he  had  thrown  off  at  the  beginning  of  his  labor. 
In  the  meantime  I  made  no  remark.  Jupiter,  at  a  signal  from 
his  master,  began  to  gather  up  his  tools.  This  done,  and  the 
dog  having  been  unmuzzled,  we  turned  in  profound  silence 
towards  home. 

We  had  taken,  perhaps,  a  dozen  steps  in  this  direction,  when, 
with  a  loud  oath,  Legrand  strode  up  to  Jupiter,  and  seized  him 
by  the  collar.  The  astonished  negro  opened  his  eyes  and  mouth 
to  the  fullest  extent,  let  fall  the  spades,  and  fell  upon  his  knees. 


86  SHORT  STORIES 

"  You  scoundrel,"  said  Legrand,  hissing  out  the  syllables 
from  between  his  clenched  teeth  —  "you  infernal  black  villain! 
—  speak,  I  tell  you !  —  answer  me  this  instant,  without  prevari- 
cation !  —  which  —  which  is  your  left  eye  ?  " 

"Oh,  my  golly,  Massa  Will!  aint  dis  here  my  lef  eye  for 
sartain  ? "  roared  the  terrified  Jupiter,  placing  his  hand  upon 
his  right  organ  of  vision,  and  holding  it  there  with  a  desperate 
pertinacity,  as  if  in  immediate  dread  of  his  master's  attempt 
at  a  gouge. 

"  I  thought  so  !  I  knew  it !  Hurrah  !  "  vociferated  Legrand, 
letting  the  negro  go,  and  executing  a  series  of  curvets  and 
caracoles,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  his  valet,  who,  arising 
from  his  knees,  looked  mutely  from  his  master  to  myself,  and 
then  from  myself  to  his  master. 

"Come!  we  must  go  back,"  said  the  latter,  "the  game's 
not  up  yet ; "  and  he  again  led  the  way  to  the  tulip-tree. 

"  Jupiter,"  said  he,  when  we  reached  its  foot,  "  come  here ! 
Was  the  skull  nailed  to  the  limb  with  the  face  outward,  or 
with  the  face  to  the  limb?" 

"  De  face  was  out,  massa,  so  dat  de  crows  could  get  at  de 
eyes  good,  widout  any  trouble." 

"  Well,  then,  was  it  this  eye  or  that  through  which  you 
dropped  the  beetle  ? "  here  Legrand  touched  each  of  Jupiter's 
eyes. 

"Twas  dis  eye,  Massa  —  de  lef  eye  —  jis  as  you  tell  me," 
and  here  it  was  his  right  eye  that  the  negro  indicated. 

"  That  will  do  —  we  must  try  it  again." 

Here,  my  friend,  about  whose  madness  I  now  saw,  or 
fancied  that  I  saw,  certain  indications  of  method,  removed  the 
peg  which  marked  the  spot  where  the  beetle  fell,  to  a  spot 
about  three  inches  to  the  westward  of  its  former  position. 
Taking,  now,  the  tape-measure  from  the  nearest  point  of  the 
trunk  to  the  peg,  as  before,  and  continuing  the  extension  in  a 


THE  GOLD-BUG  87 

straight  line  to  the  distance  of  fifty  feet,  a  spot  was  indicated, 
removed,  by  several  yards,  from  the  point  at  which  we  had 
been  digging. 

Around  the  new  position  a  circle,  somewhat  larger  than  in 
the  former  instance,  was  now  described,  and  we  again  set  to 
work  with  the  spades.  I  was  dreadfully  weary,  but,  scarcely 
understanding  what  had  occasioned  the  change  in  my  thoughts, 
I  felt  no  longer  any  great  aversion  from  the  labor  imposed. 
I  had  become  most  unaccountably  interested  —  nay,  even  ex- 
cited. Perhaps  there  was  something,  amid  all  the  extravagant 
demeanor  of  Legrand  —  some  air  of  forethought,  or  of  delibera- 
tion —  which  impressed  me.  I  dug  eagerly,  and  now  and  then 
caught  myself  actually  looking,  with  something  that  very  much 
resembled  expectation,  for  the  fancied  treasure,  the  vision  of 
which  had  demented  my  unfortunate  companion.  At  a  period 
when  such  vagaries  of  thought  most  fully  possessed  me,  and 
when  we  had  been  at  work  perhaps  an  hour  and  a  half,  we 
were  again  interrupted  by  the  violent  bowlings  of  the  dog.  His 
uneasiness,  in  the  first  instance,  had  been  evidently  but  the  re- 
sult of  playfulness  or  caprice,  but  he  now  assumed  a  bitter  and 
serious  tone.  Upon  Jupiter's  again  attempting  to  muzzle  him, 
he  made  furious  resistance,  and,  leaping  into  the  hole,  tore  up 
the  mould  frantically  with  his  claws.  In  a  few  seconds  he  had 
uncovered  a  mass  of  human  bones,  forming  two  complete  skele- 
tons, intermingled  with  several  buttons  of  metal,  and  what  ap- 
peared to  be  the  dust  of  decayed  woollen.  One  or  two  strokes 
of  a  spade  upturned  the  blade  of  a  large  Spanish  knife,,  and, 
as  we  dug  farther,  three  or  four  loose  pieces  of  gold  and  silver, 
coin  came  to  light 

At  sight  of  these  the  joy  of  Jupiter  could  scarcely  be 
restrained,  but  the  countenance  of  his  master  wore  an  air 
of  extreme  disappointment.  He  urged  us,  however,  to  con- 
tinue our  exertions,  and  the  words  were  hardly  uttered  when 


88  SHORT  STORIES 

I  stumbled  and  fell  forward,  having  caught  the  toe  of  my 
boot  in  a  large  ring  of  iron  that  lay  half  buried  in  the  loose 
earth. 

We  now  worked  in  earnest,  and  never  did  I  pass  ten  minutes 
of  more  intense  excitement.  During  this  interval  we  had  fairly 
unearthed  an  oblong  chest  of  wood,  which,  from  its  perfect 
preservation  and  wonderful  hardness,  had  plainly  been  sub- 
jected to  some  mineralizing  process  —  perhaps  that  of  the 
bichloride  of  mercury.  This  box  was  three  feet  and  a  half 
long,  three  feet  broad,  and  two  and  a  half  feet  deep.  It  was 
firmly  secured  by  bands  of  wrought  iron,  riveted,  and  forming 
a  kind  of  trellis-work  over  the  whole.  On  each  side  of  the 
chest,  near  the  top,  were  three  rings  of  iron  —  six  in  all  —  by 
means  of  which  a  firm  hold  could  be  obtained  by  six  persons. 
Our  utmost  united  endeavors  served  only  to  disturb  the  coffer 
very  slightly  in  its  bed.  We  at  once  saw  the  impossibility  of 
removing  so  great  a  weight.  Luckily,  the  sole  fastenings  of 
the  lid  consisted  of  two  sliding  bolts.  These  we  drew  back  — 
trembling  and  panting  with  anxiety.  In  an  instant,  a  treasure 
of  incalculable  value  lay  gleaming  before  us.  As  the  rays  of 
the  lanterns  fell  within  the  pit,  there  flashed  upwards,  from 
a  confused  heap  of  gold  and  of  jewels,  a  glow  and  a  glare  that 
absolutely  dazzled  our  eyes. 

I  shall  not  pretend  to  describe  the  feelings  with  which  I 
gazed.  Amazement  was,  of  course,  predominant.  Legrand 
appeared  exhausted  with  excitement,  and  spoke  very  few  words. 
Jupiter's  countenance  wore,  for  some  minutes,  as  deadly  a  pallor 
as  it  is  possible,  in  the  nature  of  things,  for  any  negro's  visage 
to  assume.  He  seemed  stupefied  —  thunder-stricken.  Presently 
he  fell  upon  his  knees  in  the  pit,  and,  burying  his  naked  arms 
up  to  the  elbows  in  gold,  let  them  there  remain,  as  if  enjoying 
the  luxury  of  a  bath.  At  length,  with  a  deep  sigh,  he  exclaimed, 
as  if  in  a  soliloquy : 


THE  GOLD-BUG  89 

"  And  dis  all  cum  ob  de  goole-bug  1  de  putty  goole-bug !  de 
poor  little  goole-bug,  what  I  boosed  in  dat  sabage  kind  ob  style  I 
Aint  you  shamed  ob  yourself,  nigger  ?  —  answer  me  dat !  " 

It  became  necessary,  at  last,  that  I  should  arouse  both  master 
and  valet  to  the  expediency  of  removing  the  treasure.  It  was 
growing  late,  and  it  behooved  us  to  make  exertion,  that  we 
might  get  everything  housed  before  daylight.  It  was  difficult 
to  say  what  should  be  done,  and  much  time  was  spent  in  delibera- 
tion —  so  confused  were  the  ideas  of  all.  We  finally  lightened 
the  box  by  removing  two-thirds  of  its  contents,  when  we  were 
enabled,  with  some  trouble,  to  raise  it  from  the  hole.  The 
articles  taken  out  were  deposited  among  the  brambles,  and  the 
dog  left  to  guard  them,  with  strict  orders  from  Jupiter  neither, 
upon  any  pretence,  to  stir  from  the  spot,  nor  to  open  his  mouth 
until  our  return.  We  then  hurriedly  made  for  home  with  the 
chest;  reaching  the  hut  in  safety,  but  after  excessive  toil,  at 
one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Worn  out  as  we  were,  it  was  not 
in  human  nature  to  do  more  just  now.  We  rested  until  two,  and 
had  supper ;  starting  for  the  hills  immediately  afterwards,  armed 
with  three  stout  sacks,  which  by  good  luck  were  upon  the  prem- 
ises. A  little  before  four  we  arrived  at  the  pit,  divided  the 
remainder  of  the  booty,  as  equally  as  might  be,  among  us,  and, 
leaving  the  holes  unfilled,  again  set  out  for  the  hut,  at  which, 
for  the  second  time,  we  deposited  our  golden  burdens,  just  as 
the  first  streaks  of  the  dawn  gleamed  from  over  the  tree-tops 
in  the  east. 

We  were  now  thoroughly  broken  down;  but  the  intense 
excitement  of  the  time  denied  us  repose.  After  an  unquiet 
slumber  of  some  three  or  four  hours'  duration,  we  arose,  as  if 
by  preconcert,  to  make  examination  of  our  treasure. 

The  chest  had  been  full  to  the  brim,  and  we  spent  the  whole 
day,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  next  night,  in  a  scrutiny  of  its 
contents.  There  had  been  nothing  like  order  or  arrangement. 


90  SHORT  STORIES 

Everything  had  been  heaped  in  promiscuously.  Having  assorted 
all  with  care,  we  found  ourselves  possessed  of  even  vaster  wealth 
than  we  had  at  first  supposed.  In  coin  there  was  rather  more 
than  four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  —  estimating  the 
value  of  the  pieces,  as  accurately  as  we  could,  by  the  tables  of 
the  period.  There  was  not  a  particle  of  silver.  All  was  gold 
of  antique  date  and  of  great  variety:  French,  Spanish,  and 
German  money,  with  a  few  English  guineas,  and  some  counters 
of  which  we  had  never  seen  specimens  before.  There  were 
several  very  large  and  heavy  coins,  so  worn  that  we  could  make 
nothing  of  their  inscriptions.  There  was  no  American  money. 
The  value  of  the  jewels  we  found  more  difficulty  in  estimating. 
There  were  diamonds  —  some  of  them  exceedingly  large  and 
fine  —  a  hundred  and  ten  in  all,  and  not  one  of  them  small; 
eighteen  rubies  of  remarkable  brilliancy ;  three  hundred  and  ten 
emeralds,  all  very  beautiful ;  and  twenty-one  sapphires,  with  an 
opal.  These  stones  had  all  been  broken  from  their  settings  and 
thrown  loose  in  the  chest.  The  settings  themselves,  which  we 
picked  out  from  among  the  other  gold,  appeared  to  have  been 
beaten  up  with  hammers,  as  if  to  prevent  identification.  Besides 
all  this,  there  was  a  vast  quantity  of  solid  gold  ornaments : 
nearly  two  hundred  massive  finger  and  ear-rings ;  rich  chains  — 
thirty  of  these,  if  I  remember ;  eighty-three  very  large  and  heavy 
crucifixes ;  five  gold  censers  of  great  value  ;  a  prodigious  golden 
punch-bowl,  ornamented  with  richly  chased  vine-leaves  and 
Bacchanalian  figures;  with  two  sword-handles  exquisitely  em- 
bossed, and  many  other  smaller  articles  which  I  cannot  recollect. 
The  weight  of  these  valuables  exceeded  three  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  avoirdupois ;  and  in  this  estimate  I  have  not  included 
one  hundred  and  ninety-seven  superb  gold  watches;  three  of 
the  number  being  worth  each  five  hundred  dollars,  if  one. 
Many  of  them  were  very  old,  and  as  time-keepers  valueless,  the 
works  having  suffered  more  or  less  from  corrosion ;  but  all  were 


THE  GOLD-BUG  91 

richly  jewelled  and  in  cases  of  great  worth.  We  estimated  the 
entire  contents  of  the  chest,  that  night,  at  a  million  and  a  half 
of  dollars;  and,  upon  the  subsequent  disposal  of  the  trinkets 
and  jewels  (a  few  being  retained  for  our  own  use),  it  was  found 
that  we  had  greatly  undervalued  the  treasure. 

When,  at  length,  we  had  concluded  our  examination,  and  the 
intense  excitement  of  the  time  had  in  some  measure  subsided, 
Legrand,  who  saw  that  I  was  dying  with  impatience  for  a  solu- 
tion of  this  most  extraordinary  riddle,  entered  into  a  full  detail 
of  all  the  circumstances  connected  with  it. 

"  You  remember,"  said  he,  "  the  night  when  I  handed  you 
the  rough  sketch  I  had  made  of  the  scarabczus.  You  recollect, 
also,  that  I  became  quite  vexed  at  you  for  insisting  that  my 
drawing  resembled  a  death's-head.  When  you  first  made  this 
assertion  I  thought  you  were  jesting;  but  afterwards  I  called 
to  mind  the  peculiar  spots  on  the  back  of  the  insect,  and  admitted 
to  myself  that  your  remark  had  some  little  foundation  in  fact. 
Still,  the  sneer  at  my  graphic  powers  irritated  me  —  for  I  am 
considered  a  good  artist  —  and,  therefore,  when  you  handed  me 
the  scrap  of  parchment,  I  was  about  to  crumple  it  up  and  throw 
it  angrily  into  the  fire." 

"  The  scrap  of  paper,  you  mean,"  said  I. 

"  No :  it  had  much  of  the  appearance  of  paper,  and  at  first 
I  supposed  it  to  be  such,  but  when  I  came  to  draw  upon  it,  I 
discovered  it,  at  once,  to  be  a  piece  of  very  thin  parchment.  It 
was  quite  dirty,  you  remember.  Well,  as  I  was  in  the  very  act 
of  crumpling  it  up,  my  glance  fell  upon  the  sketch  at  which  you 
had  been  looking,  and  you  may  imagine  my  astonishment  when 
I  perceived,  in  fact,  the  figure  of  a  death's-head  just  where,  it 
seemed  to  me,  I  had  made  the  drawing  of  the  beetle.  For 
a  moment  I  was  too  much  amazed  to  think  with  accuracy.  I 
knew  that  my  design  was  very  different  in  detail  from  this 
—  although  there  was  a  certain  similarity  in  general  outline. 


92  SHORT  STORIES 

Presently  I  took  a  candle,  and,  seating  myself  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room,  proceeded  to  scrutinize  the  parchment  more  closely. 
Upon  turning  it  over,  I  saw  my  own  sketch  upon  the  reverse, 
just  as  I  had  made  it.  My  first  idea,  now,  was  mere  surprise 
at  the  really  remarkable  similarity  of  outline  —  at  the  singular 
coincidence  involved  in  the  fact  that,  unknown  to  me,  there 
should  have  been  a  skull  upon  the  other  side  of  the  parchment, 
immediately  beneath  my  figure  of  the  scarabaus,  and  that  this 
skull,  not  only  in  outline,  but  in  size,  should  so  closely  resemble 
my  drawing.  I  say  the  singularity  of  this  coincidence  absolutely 
stupefied  me  for  a  time.  This  is  the  usual  effect  of  such  coinci- 
dences. The  mind  struggles  to  establish  a  connection  —  a 
sequence  of  cause  and  effect  —  and,  being  unable  to  do  so, 
suffers  a  species  of  temporary  paralysis.  But,  when  I  recovered 
from  this  stupor,  there  dawned  upon  me  gradually  a  conviction 
which  startled  me  even  far  more  than  the  coincidence.  I  began 
distinctly,  positively,  to  remember  that  there  had  been  no  draw- 
ing on  the  parchment  when  I  made  my  sketch  of  the  scarab&us. 
I  became  perfectly  certain  of  this ;  for  I  recollected  turning  up 
first  one  side  and  then  the  other,  in  search  of  the  cleanest  spot. 
Had  the  skull  been  then  there,  of  course  I  could  not  have  failed 
to  notice  it.  Here  was  indeed  a  mystery  which  I  felt  it  impos- 
sible to  explain ;  but,  even  at  that  early  moment,  there  seemed 
to  glimmer,  faintly,  within  the  most  remote  and  secret  chambers 
of  my  intellect,  a  glow-worm-like  conception  of  that  truth  which 
last  night's  adventure  brought  to  so  magnificent  a  demonstra- 
tion. I  arose  at  once,  and,  putting  the  parchment  securely  away, 
dismissed  all  farther  reflection  until  I  should  be  alone. 

"  When  you  had  gone,  and  when  Jupiter  was  fast  asleep,  I 
betook  myself  to  a  more  methodical  investigation  of  the  affair. 
In  the  first  place  I  considered  the  manner  in  which  the  parch- 
ment had  come  into  my  possession.  The  spot  where  we  dis- 
covered the  scarabczus  was  on  the  coast  of  the  mainland,  about 


THE  GOLD-BUG  93 

a  mile  eastward  of  the  island,  and  but  a  short  distance  above 
high-water  mark.  Upon  my  taking  hold  of  it,  it  gave  me  a  sharp 
bite,  which  caused  me  to  let  it  drop.  Jupiter,  with  his  accus- 
tomed caution,  before  seizing  the  insect,  which  had  flown 
towards  him,  looked  about  him  for  a  leaf,  or  something  of  that 
nature,  by  which  to  take  hold  of  it.  It  was  at  this  moment  that 
his  eyes,  and  mine  also,  fell  upon  the  scrap  of  parchment,  which 
I  then  supposed  to  be  paper.  It  was  lying  half-buried  in  the 
sand,  a  corner  sticking  up.  Near  the  spot  where  we  found  it, 
I  observed  the  remnants  of  the  hull  of  what  appeared  to  have 
been  a  ship's  long  boat.  The  wreck  seemed  to  have  been  there 
for  a  very  great  while;  for  the  resemblance  to  boat  timbers 
could  scarcely  be  traced. 

"  Well,  Jupiter  picked  up  the  parchment,  wrapped  the  beetle 
in  it,  and  gave  it  to  me.  Soon  afterwards  we  turned  to  go  home, 

and  on  the  way  met  Lieutenant  G .  I  showed  him  the 

insect,  and  he  begged  me  to  let  him  take  it  to  the  fort.  On  mj 
consenting,  he  thrust  it  forthwith  into  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
without  the  parchment  in  which  it  had  been  wrapped,  and  which 
I  had  continued  to  hold  in  my  hand  during  his  inspection.  Per- 
haps he  dreaded  my  changing  my  mind,  and  thought  it  best  to 
make  sure  of  the  prize  at  once  —  you  know  how  enthusiastic 
he  is  on  all  subjects  connected  with  Natural  History.  At  the 
same  time,  without  being  conscious  of  it,  I  must  have  deposited 
the  parchment  in  my  own  pocket. 

"  You  remember  that  when  I  went  to  the  table,  for  the 
purpose  of  making  a  sketch  of  the  beetle,  I  found  no  paper 
where  it  was  usually  kept.  I  looked  in  the  drawer,  and  found 
none  there.  I  searched  my  pockets,  hoping  to  find  an  old  letter, 
and  then  my  hand  fell  upon  the  parchment.  I  thus  detail  the 
precise  mode  in  which  it  came  into  my  possession;  for  the 
circumstances  impressed  me  with  peculiar  force. 

"  No  doubt  you  will  think  me  fanciful  —  but  I  had  already 


94  SHORT  STORIES 

established  a  kind  of  connection.  I  had  put  together  two  links 
of  a  great  chain.'  There  was  a  boat  lying  on  a  seacoast,  and 
not  far  from  the  boat  was  a  parchment  —  not  a  paper — with 
a  skull  depicted  on  it.  You  will,  of  course,  ask  '  where  is  the 
connection  ? '  I  reply  that  the  skull,  or  death's-head,  is  the  well- 
known  emblem  of  the  pirate.  The  flag  of  the  death's-head  is 
hoisted  in  all  engagements. 

"  I  have  said  that  the  scrap  was  parchment,  and  not  paper. 
Parchment  is  durable  —  almost  imperishable.  Matters  of  little 
moment  are  rarely  consigned  to  parchment ;  since,  for  the  mere 
ordinary  purposes  of  drawing  or  writing,  it  is  not  nearly  so  well 
adapted  as  paper.  This  reflection  suggested  some  meaning  — 
some  relevancy — in  the  death's-head.  I  did  not  fail  to  observe, 
also,  \heform  of  the  parchment  Although  one  of  its  corners 
had  been,  by  some  accident,  destroyed,  it  could  be  seen  that 
the  original  form  was  oblong.  It  was  just  such  a  slip,  indeed, 
as  might  have  been  chosen  for  a  memorandum  —  for  a  record 
of  something  to  be  long  remembered  and  carefully  preserved." 

"  But,"  I  interposed,  "  you  say  that  the  skull  was  not  upon 
the  parchment  when  you  made  the  drawing  of  the  beetle.  How 
then  do  you  trace  any  connection  between  the  boat  and  the 
skull  —  since  this  latter,  according  to  your  own  admission,  must 
have*fceen  designed  (God  only  knows  how  or  by  whom)  at  some 
period  subsequent  to  your  sketching  the  scarabceus  ? " 

"Ah,  hereupon  turns  the  whole  mystery;  although  the  secret, 
at  this  point,  I  had  comparatively  little  difficulty  in  solving. 
My  steps  were  sure,  and  could  afford  but  a  single  result.  I 
reasoned,  for  example,  thus  :  When  I  drew  the  scarabczus,  there 
was  no  skull  apparent  on  the  parchment.  When  I  had  com- 
pleted the  drawing  I  gave  it  to  you,  and  observed  you  narrowly 
until  you  returned  it.  You,  therefore,  did  not  design  the  skull, 
and  no  one  else  was  present  to  do  it.  Then  it  was  not  done 
by  human  agency.  And  nevertheless  it  was  done. 


THE  GOLD-BUG  95 

"  At  this  stage  of  my  reflections  I  endeavored  to  remember, 
and  did  remember,  with  entire  distinctness,  every  incident  which 
occurred  about  the  period  in  question.  The  weather  was  chilly 
(O  rare  and  happy  accident!),  and  a  fire  was  blazing  on  the 
hearth.  I  was  heated  with  exercise  and  sat  near  the  table. 
You,  however,  had  drawn  a  chair  close  to  the  chimney.  Just 
as  I  placed  the  parchment  in  your  hand,  and  as  you  were  in 
the  act  of  inspecting  it,  Wolf,  the  Newfoundland,  entered,  and 
leaped  upon  your  shoulders.  With  your  left  hand  you  caressed 
him  and  kept  him  off,  while  your  right,  holding  the  parchment, 
was  permitted  to  fall  listlessly  between  your  knees,  and  in  close 
proximity  to  the  fire.  At  one  moment  I  thought  the  blaze  had 
caught  it,  and  was  about  to  caution  you,  but,  before  I  could 
speak,  you  had  withdrawn  it,  and  were  engaged  in  its  examina- 
tion. When  I  considered  all  these  particulars,  I  doubted  not 
for  a  moment  that  heat  had  been  the  agent  in  bringing  to  light, 
on  the  parchment,  the  skull  which  I  saw  designed  on  it.  You 
are  well  aware  that  chemical  preparations  exist,  and  have  ex- 
isted time  out  of  mind,  by  means  of  which  it  is  possible  to 
write  on  either  paper  or  vellum,  so  that  the  characters  shall 
become  visible  only  when  subjected  to  the  action  of  fire.  Zaffre 
digested  in  aqua  regia,  and  diluted  with  four  times  its  weight 
of  water,  is  sometimes  employed;  a  green  tint  results.  The 
regulus  of  cobalt,  dissolved  in  spirit  of  nitre,  gives  a  red. 
These  colors  disappear  at  longer  or  shorter  intervals  after  the 
material  written  upon  cools,  but  again  become  apparent  upon 
the  reapplication  of  heat. 

"  I  now  scrutinized  the  death's-head  with  care.  Its  outer 
edges  —  the  edges  of  the  drawing  nearest  the  edge  of  the 
vellum  —  were  far  more  distinct  than  the  others.  It  was  clear 
that  the  action  of  the  caloric  had  been  imperfect  or  unequal. 
I  immediately  kindled  a  fire,  and  subjected  every  portion  of 
the  parchment  to  a  glowing  heat.  At  first,  the  only  effect  was 


96  SHORT  STORIES 

the  strengthening  of  the  faint  lines  in  the  skull ;  but,  on  perse- 
vering in  the  experiment,  there  became  visible  at  the  corner 
of  the  slip,  diagonally  opposite  to  the  spot  in  which  the  death's- 
head  was  delineated,  the  figure  of  what  I  at  first  supposed  to 
be  a  goat.  A  closer  scrutiny,  however,  satisfied  me  that  it  was 
intended  for  a  kid." 

"  Ha  1  ha !  "  said  I,  u  to  be  sure  I  have  no  right  to  laugh  at 

you  —  a  million  and  a  half  of  money  is  too  serious  a  matter 

for  mirth  —  but  you  are  not  about  to  establish  a  third  link  in 

your  chain :  you  will  not  find  any  especial  connection  between 

your  pirates  and  a  goat;  pirates,  you  know,  have  nothing  to 

do  with  goats ;  they  appertain  to  the  farming  interest." 

"  But  I  have  just  said  that  the  figure  was  not  that  of  a  goat." 

"  Well,  a  kid,  then  —  pretty  much  the  same  thing." 

"  Pretty  much,  but  not  altogether,"  said  Legrand.   "  You  may 

have  heard  of  one   Captain  Kidd.    I  at  once  looked  on  the 

figure  of  the  animal  as  a  kind  of  punning  or  hieroglyphical 

signature.    I  say  signature,  because  its  position  on  the  vellum 

suggested  this  idea.    The  death's-head  at  the  corner  diagonally 

opposite  had,  in  the  same  manner,  the  air  of  a  stamp,  or  seal. 

But  I  was  sorely  put  out  by  the  absence  of  all  else  —  of  the 

body  to  my  imagined  instrument  —  of  the  text  for  my  context." 

"  I  presume  you  expected  to  find  a  letter  between  the  stamp 

and  the  signature." 

"  Something  of  that  kind.  The  fact  is,  I  felt  irresistibly  im- 
pressed with  a  presentiment  of  some  vast  good  fortune  im- 
pending. I  can  scarcely  say  why.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was 
rather  a  desire  than  an  actual  belief ;  —  but  do  you  know  that 
Jupiter's  silly  words,  about  the  bug  being  of  solid  gold,  had  a 
remarkable  effect  on  my  fancy  ?  And  then  the  series  of  acci- 
dents and  coincidences  —  these  were  so  very  extraordinary.  Do 
you  observe  how  mere  an  accident  it  was  that  these  events 
should  have  occurred  on  the  sole  day  of  all  the  year  in  which 


THE  GOLD-BUG  97 

it  has  been,  or  may  be,  sufficiently  cool  for  fire,  and  that  with- 
out the  fire,  or  without  the  intervention  of  the  dog  at  the  pre- 
cise moment  in  which  he  appeared,  I  should  never  have  become 
aware  of  the  death's-head,  and  so  never  the  possessor  of  the 
treasure  ? " 

"  But  proceed  —  I  am  all  impatience." 

"  Well ;  you  have  heard,  of  course,  the  many  stories  current 
— the  thousand  vague  rumors  afloat  about  money  buried,  some- 
where on  the  Atlantic  coast,  by  Kidd  and  his  associates.  These 
rumors  must  have  had  some  foundation  in  fact.  And  that  the 
rumors  have  existed  so  long  and  so  continuously,  could  have 
resulted,  it  appeared  to  me,  only  from  the  circumstance  of  the 
buried  treasure  still  remaining  entombed.  Had  Kidd  concealed 
his  plunder  for  a  time,  and  afterwards  reclaimed  it,  the  rumors 
would  scarcely  have  reached  us  in  their  present  unvarying  form. 
You  will  observe  that  the  stories  told  are  all  about  money- 
seekers,  not  about  money-finders.  Had  the  pirate  recovered 
his  money,  there  the  affair  would  have  dropped.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  some  accident  —  say  the  loss  of  a  memorandum 
indicating  its  locality  —  had  deprived  him  of  the  means  of  re- 
covering it,  and  that  this  accident  had  become  known  to  his 
followers,  who  otherwise  might  never  have  heard  that  treasure 
had  been  concealed  at  all,  and  who,  busying  themselves  in  vain, 
because  unguided,  attempts  to  regain  it,  had  given  first  birth, 
and  then  universal  currency,  to  the  reports  which  are  now  so 
common.  Have  you  ever  heard  of  any  important  treasure  being 
unearthed  along  the  coast  ? " 

"  Never." 

"  But  that  Kidd's  accumulations  were  immense  is  well  known. 
I  took  it  for  granted,  therefore,  that  the  earth  still  held  them ; 
and  you  will  scarcely  be  surprised  when  I  tell  you  that  I  felt 
a  hope,  nearly  amounting  to  certainty,  that  the  parchment  so 
strangely  found  involved  a  lost  record  of  the  place  of  deposit" 


98  SHORT  STORIES 

"  But  how  did  you  proceed  ?  " 

"  I  held  the  vellum  again  to  the  fire,  after  increasing  the 
heat,  but  nothing  appeared.  I  now  thought  it  possible  that  the 
coating  of  dirt  might  have  something  to  do  with  the  failure; 
so  I  carefully  rinsed  the  parchment  by  pouring  warm  water 
over  it,  and,  having  done  this,  I  placed  it  in  a  tin  pan,  with  the 
skull  downwards,  and  put  the  pan  upon  a  furnace  of  lighted 
charcoal.  In  a  few  minutes,  the  pan  having  become  thoroughly 
heated,  I  removed  the  slip,  and,  to  my  inexpressible  joy,  found 
it  spotted,  in  several  places,  with  what  appeared  to  be  figures 
arranged  in  lines.  Again  I  placed  it  in  the  pan,  and  suffered 
it  to  remain  another  minute.  Upon  taking  it  off,  the  whole  was 
just  as  you  see  it  now." 

Here,  Legrand,  having  reheated  the  parchment,  submitted  it 
to  my  inspection.  The  following  characters  were  rudely  traced, 
in  a  red  tint,  between  the  death's-head  and  the  goat  :  — 


"  But,"  said  I,  returning  him  the  slip,  "  I  am  as  much  in  the 
dark  as  ever.  Were  all  the  jewels  of  Golconda  awaiting  me 
on  my  solution  of  this  enigma,  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  should 
be  unable  to  earn  them." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Legrand,  "  the  solution  is  by  no  means  so 
difficult  as  you  might  be  led  to  imagine  from  the  first  hasty  in- 
spection of  the  characters.  These  characters,  as  any  one  might 
readily  guess,  form  a  cipher  —  that  is  to  say,  they  convey  a 
meaning  ;  but  then,  from  what  is  known  of  Kidd,  I  could  not 
suppose  him  capable  of  constructing  any  of  the  more  abstruse 
cryptographs,  I  made  up  my  mind,  at  once,  that  this  was  of  a 


THE  GOLD-BUG  99 

simple  species  —  such,  however,  as  would  appear,  to  the  crude 
intellect  of  the  sailor,  absolutely  insoluble  without  the  key." 

"And  you  really  solved  it  ?  " 

"  Readily ;  I  have  solved  others  of  an  abstruseness  ten  thou- 
sand times  greater.  Circumstances,  and  a  certain  bias  of  mind, 
have  led  me  to  take  interest  in  such  riddles,  and  it  may  well 
be  doubted  whether  human  ingenuity  can  construct  an  enigma 
of  the  kind  which  human  ingenuity  may  not,  by  proper  applica- 
tion, resolve.  In  fact,  having  once  established  connected  and 
legible  characters,  I  scarcely  gave  a  thought  to  the  mere  diffi- 
culty of  developing  their  import. 

"  In  the  present  case  —  indeed  in  all  cases  of  secret  writing 
—  the  first  question  regards  the  language  of  the  cipher;  for 
the  principles  of  solution,  so  far,  especially,  as  the  more  simple 
ciphers  are  concerned,  depend  on,  and  are  varied  by,  the  genius 
of  the  particular  idiom.  In  general,  there  is  no  alternative  but 
experiment  (directed  by  probabilities)  of  every  tongue  known 
to  him  who  attempts  the  solution,  until  the  true  one  be  attained. 
But,  with  the  cipher  now  before  us,  all  difficulty  is  removed  by 
the  signature.  The  pun  upon  the  word  '  Kidd '  is  appreciable  in 
no  other  language  than  the  English.  But  for  this  consideration 
I  should  have  begun  my  attempts  with  the  Spanish  and  French, 
as  the  tongues  in  which  a  secret  of  this  kind  would  most  nat- 
urally have  been  written  by  a  pirate  of  the  Spanish  Main.  As 
it  was,  I  assumed  the  cryptograph  to  be  English. 

"  You  observe  there  are  no  divisions  between  the  words. 
Had  there  been  divisions,  the  task  would  have  been  com- 
paratively easy.  In  such  case  I  should  have  commenced 
with  a  collation  and  analysis  of  the  shorter  words,  and,  had  a 
word  of  a  single  letter  occurred,  as  is  most  likely  (a  or  f,  for 
example),  I  should  have  considered  the  solution  as  assured. 
But,  there  being  no  division,  my  first  step  was  to  ascertain  the 


100  SHORT  STORIES 

predominant  letters,  as  well  as  the  least  frequent     Counting 
all,  I  constructed  a  table,  thus: 

Of  the  character  8  there  are  33 

;    .     "        26 

4  "         19 

n         16 

5  "        12 

6  «         ii 
•  f  i         "          8 

o  «  6 

92  "  5 

=  3  4 

?  «  3 

IF  "  2 


"  Now,  in  English,  the  letter  which  most  frequently  occurs 
is  z.  Afterwards  the  succession  runs  thus :  aoidhnrstu 
y  cfglm  wb  kp q xz.  E  predominates,  however,  so  remark- 
ably that  an  individual  sentence  of  any  length  is  rarely  seen,  in 
which  it  is  not  the  prevailing  character. 

"  Here,  then,  we  have,  in  the  very  beginning,  the  ground- 
work for  something  more  than  a  mere  guess.  The  general  use 
which  may  be  made  of  the  table  is  obvious  —  but,  in  this  par- 
ticular cipher,  we  shall  only  very  partially  require  its  aid.  As 
our  predominant  character  is  8,  we  will  commence  by  assuming 
it  as  the  e  of  the  natural  alphabet.  To  verify  the  supposition, 
let  us  observe  if  the  8  be  seen  often  in  couples  —  for  e  is 
doubled  with  great  frequency  in  English  —  in  such  words,  for 
example,  as  '  meet,'  '  fleet,'  '  speed,'  *  seen,'  '  been,'  '  agree/  etc, 
In  the  present  instance  we  see  it  doubled  no  less  than  five 
times,  although  the  cryptograph  is  brief. 

"  Let  us  assume  8,  then,  as  e.  Now  of  all  words  in  the 
language,  *  the '  is  most  usual;  let  us  see,  therefore,  whether 


THE  GOL  0-B.UQ  \  :JVO X 

there  are  not  repetitions  of  any  three  characters,  in  the  same 
order  of  collocation,  the  last  of  them  being  8.  If  we  discover 
repetitions  of  such  letters,  so  arranged,  they  will  most  probably 
represent  the  word  '  the.'  On  inspection,  we  find  no  less  than 
seven  such  arrangements,  the  characters  being  548.  We  may, 
therefore,  assume  that  the  semicolon  represents  /,  that  4  repre- 
sents h,  and  that  8  represents  e  —  the  last  being  now  well  con- 
firmed. Thus  a  great  step  has  been  taken. 

"  But,  having  established  a  single  word,  we  are  enabled  to 
establish  a  vastly  important  point ;  that  is  to  say,  several  com- 
mencements and  terminations  of  other  words.  Let  us  refer,  for 
example,  to  the  last  instance  but  one,  in  which  the  combination 
548  occurs  —  not  far  from  the  end  of  the  cipher.  We  know 
that  the  semicolon  immediately  ensuing  is  the  commencement 
of  a  word,  and,  of  the  six  characters  succeeding  this  *  the,'  we  are 
cognizant  of  no  less  than  five.  Let  us  set  these  characters 
down,  thus,  by  the  letters  we  know  them  to  represent,  leaving  a 

space  for  the  unknown  — 

t  eeth. 

"  Here  we  are  enabled,  at  once,  to  discard  the  *  M/  as  form- 
ing no  portion  of  the  word  commencing  with  the  first  / ;  since, 
by  experiment  of  the  entire  alphabet  for  a  letter  adapted  to  the 
vacancy,  we  perceive  that  no  word  can  be  formed  of  which  this 
th  can  be  a  part.  We  are  thus  narrowed  into 

tee, 

and,  going  through  the  alphabet,  if  necessary,  as  before,  we 
arrive  at  the  word  '  tree '  as  the  sole  possible  reading.  We  thus 
gain  another  letter,  r,  represented  by  (,  with  the  words  'the 
tree '  in  juxtaposition. 

"  Looking  beyond  these  words,  for  a  short  distance,  we  again 
see  the  combination  548,  and  employ  it  by  way  of  termination 
to  what  immediately  precedes.    We  have  thus  this  arrangement : 
the  tree  ;4(J  ?34  the, 


102?  ::  SHORT  STORIES 

or,  substituting  the  natural  letters,  where  known,  it  reads  thus  : 
the  tree  thr  J  ?sh  the. 

"Now,  if,  in  place  of  the  unknown  characters,  we  leave 
blank  spaces,  or  substitute  dots,  we  read  thus  : 
the  tree  thr  ...  h  the, 

when  the  word  '  through  '  makes  itself  evident  at  once.  But 
this  discovery  gives  us  three  new  letters,  o,  u,  and  g,  repre- 
sented by  $,  ?  and  3. 

"  Looking  now,  narrowly,  through  the  cipher  for  combi- 
nations of  known  characters,  we  find,  not  very  far  from  the 
beginning,  this  arrangement  : 

83(88,  or  egree, 

which,  plainly,  is  the  conclusion  of  the  word  '  degree/  and  gives 
us  another  letter,  d,  represented  by  |- 

"  Four  letters  beyond  the  word  *  degree,'  we  perceive  the 

combination 

;46(;88*. 

"Translating  the  known  characters,  and  representing  the 
unknown  by  dots,  as  before,  we  read  thus  : 

th  .  rtee. 

an  arrangement  immediately  suggestive  of  the  word  f  thirteen,' 
and  again  furnishing  us  with  two  new  characters,  i  and  «, 
represented  by  6  and  *. 

"  Referring,  now,  to  the  beginning  of  the  cryptograph,  we 
find  the  combination, 


"  Translating  as  before,  we  obtain 
good, 

which  assures  us  that  the  first  letter  is  A,  and  that  the  first  two 
words  are  f  A  good.' 


THE  GOLD-BUG  IO3 

"To  avoid  confusion,  it  is  now  time  that  we  arrange  our 
key,  as  far  as  discovered,  in  a  tabular  form.    It  will  stand  thus  : 

5  represents  a 
t         "         d 
8         «         e 

3  "  g 

4  "  h 

6  "  i 
*  "  n 

" 


"We  have,  therefore,  no  less  than  ten  of  the  most  important 
letters  represented,  and  it  will  be  unnecessary  to  proceed  with 
the  details  of  the  solution.  I  have  said  enough  to  convince 
you  that  ciphers  of  this  nature  are  readily  soluble,  and  to  give 
you  some  insight  into  the  rationale  of  their  development.  But 
be  assured  that  the  specimen  before  us  appertains  to  the  very 
simplest  species  of  cryptograph.  It  now  only  remains  to  give 
you  the  full  translation  of  the  characters  upon  the  parchment, 
as  unriddled.  Here  it  is  : 

"  '  A  good  glass  in  the  bishop's  hostel  in  the  deviPs  seat  twenty 
one  degrees  and  thirteen  minutes  northeast  and  by  north  main 
branch  seventh  limb  east  side  shoot  from  the  left  eye  of  the  death's- 
head  a  bee  line  from  the  tree  through  the  shot  fifty  feet  out:  " 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  the  enigma  seems  still  in  as  bad  a  condi- 
tion as  ever.  How  is  it  possible  to  extort  a  meaning  from 
all  this  jargon  about  *  devil's  seats,'  'death's-head,'  and  'bishop's 
hostel'?" 

"  I  confess,"  replied  Legrand,  "  that  the  matter  still  wears  a 
serious  aspect,  when  regarded  with  a  casual  glance.  My  first 
endeavor  was  to  divide  the  sentence  into  the  natural  division 
intended  by  the  cryptographist." 


104  SHORT  STORIES 

"  You  mean,  to  punctuate  it  ? " 

"  Something  of  that  kind." 

"  But  how  is  it  possible  to  effect  this  ? " 

"  I  reflected  that  it  had  been  a  point  with  the  writer  to  run 
his  words  together  without  division,  so  as  to  increase  the  diffi- 
culty of  solution.  Now,  a  not  over-acute  man,  in  pursuing  such 
an  object,  would  be  nearly  certain  to  overdo  the  matter.  When, 
in  the  course  of  his  composition,  he  arrived  at  a  break  in  his 
subject  which  would  naturally  require  a  pause,  or  a  point,  he 
would  be  exceedingly  apt  to  run  his  characters,  at  this  place, 
more  than  usually  close  together.  If  you  will  observe  the  MS., 
in  the  present  instance,  you  will  easily  detect  five  such  cases  of 
unusual  crowding.  Acting  on  this  hint,  I  made  the  division  thus : 

"  *A  good  glass  in  the  Bishop's  hostel  in  the  deviTs  seat  — 
twenty-one  degrees  and  thirteen  minutes  —  northeast  and  by  north 
—  main  branch  seventh  limb  east  side  —  shoot  from  the  left  eye 
of  the  death's-head — a  bee-line  from  the  tree  through  the  shot 
fifty  feet  out' " 

"  Even  this  division,"  said  I,  "  leaves  me  still  in  the  dark." 

"  It  left  me  also  in  the  dark,"  replied  Legrand,  "  for  a  few 
days ;  during  which  I  made  diligent  inquiry,  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Sullivan's  Island,  for  any  building  which  went  by  the 
name  of  the  '  Bishop's  Hotel ' ;  for,  of  course,  I  dropped  the 
obsolete  word  '  hostel.'  Gaining  no  information  on  the  subject, 
I  was  on  the  point  of  extending  my  sphere  of  search,  and  pro- 
ceeding in  a  more  systematic  manner,  when  one  morning  it 
entered  into  my  head,  quite  suddenly,  that  this  *  Bishop's  Hostel ' 
might  have  some  reference  to  an  old  family,  of  the  name  of 
Bessop,  which,  time  out  of  mind,  had  held  possession  of  an 
ancient  manor-house,  about  four  miles  to  the  northward  of  the 
island.'  I  accordingly  went  over  to  the  plantation,  and  reinsti- 
tuted  my  inquiries  among  the  older  negroes  of  the  place.  At 
length  one  of  the  most  aged  of  the  women  said  that  she  had 


THE  GOLD-BUG  105 

heard  of  such  a  place  as  Bessop's  Castle,  and  thought  that  she 
could  guide  me  to  it,  but  that  it  was  not  a  castle,  nor  a  tavern, 
but  a  high  rock. 

"  I  offered  to  pay  her  well  for  her  trouble,  and,  after  some 
demur,  she  consented  to  accompany  me  to  the  spot.  We  found 
it  without  much  difficulty,  when,  dismissing  her,  I  proceeded 
to  examine  the  place.  The  '  castle '  consisted  of  an  irregular 
assemblage  of  cliffs  and  rocks  —  one  of  the  latter  being  quite 
remarkable  for  its  height  as  well  as  for  its  insulated  and  arti- 
ficial appearance.  I  clambered  to  its  apex,  and  then  felt  much 
at  a  loss  as  to  what  should  be  next  done. 

"  While  I  was  busied  in  reflection,  my  eyes  fell  on  a  narrow 
ledge  in  the  eastern  face  of  the  rock,  perhaps  a  yard  below  the 
summit  upon  which  I  stood.  This  ledge  projected  about  eighteen 
inches,  and  was  not  more  than  a  foot  wide,  while  a  niche  in  the 
cliff  just  above  it  gave  it  a  rude  resemblance  to  one  of  the  hol- 
low-backed chairs  used  by  our  ancestors.  I  made  no  doubt  that 
here  was  the  *  devil's  seat '  alluded  to  in  the  MS.,  and  now  I 
seemed  to  grasp  the  full  secret  of  the  riddle. 

"  The  '  good  glass,'  I  knew,  could  have  reference  to  nothing 
but  a  telescope ;  for  the  word  *  glass  '  is  rarely  employed  in  any 
other  sense  by  seamen.  Now  here,  I  at  once  saw,  was  a  tele- 
scope to  be  used,  and  a  definite  point  of  view,  admitting  no 
variation,  from  which  to  use  it.  Nor  did  I  hesitate  to  believe 
that  the  phrases  '  twenty-one  degrees  and  thirteen  minutes,' 
and  *  north-east  and  by  north,'  were  intended  as  directions 
for  the  levelling  of  the  glass.  Greatly  excited  by  these  dis- 
coveries, I  hurried  home,  procured  a  telescope,  and  returned 
to  the  rock. 

"  I  let  myself  down  to  the  ledge,  and  found  that  it  was 
impossible  to  retain  a  seat  on  it  unless  in  one  particular  posi- 
tion. This  fact  confirmed  my  preconceived  idea.  I  proceeded 
to  use  the  glass.  Of  course,  the  'twenty-one  degrees  and 


106  SHORT  STORIES 

thirteen  minutes'  could  allude  to  nothing  but  elevation  above 
the  visible  horizon,  since  the  horizontal  direction  was  clearly 
indicated  by  the  words,  *  north-east  and  by  north.'  This  latter 
direction  I  at  once  established  by  means  of  a  pocket-compass ; 
then,  pointing  the  glass  as  nearly  at  an  angle  of  twenty-one 
degrees  of  elevation  as  I  could  do  it  by  guess,  I  moved  it 
cautiously  up  or  down,  until  my  attention  was  arrested  by  a 
circular  rift  or  opening  in  the  foliage  of  a  large  tree  that  over- 
topped its  fellows  in  the  distance.  In  the  centre  of  this  rift  I 
perceived  a  white  spot,  but  could  not,  at  first,  distinguish  what 
it  was.  Adjusting  the  focus  of  the  telescope,  I  again  looked,  and 
now  made  it  out  to  be  a  human  skull. 

"On  this  discovery  I  was  so  sanguine  as  to  consider  the 
enigma  solved  ;  for  the  phrase  '  main  branch,  seventh  limb,  east 
side,'  could  refer  only  to  the  position  of  the  skull  on  the  tree, 
while  *  shoot  from  the  left  eye  of  the  death's-head '  admitted, 
also,  of  but  one  interpretation,  in  regard  to  a  search  for  buried 
treasure.  I  perceived  that  the  design  was  to  drop  a  bullet  from 
the  left  eye  of  the  skull,  and  that  a  bee-line,  or  in  other  words, 
a  straight  line,  drawn  from  the  nearest  point  of  the  trunk  through 
*  the  shot '  (or  the  spot  where  the  bullet  fell),  and  thence 
extended  to  a  distance  of  fifty  feet,  would  indicate  a  definite 
point  —  and  beneath  this  point  I  thought  it  at  least  possible  that 
a  deposit  of  value  lay  concealed." 

"  All  this,"  I  said,  "  is  exceedingly  clear,  and,  although  ingen- 
ious, still  simple  and  explicit.  When  you  left  the  Bishop's  Hotel, 
what  then  ? " 

"Why,  having  carefully  taken  the  bearings  of  the  tree,  I 
turned  homewards.  The  instant  that  I  left  'the  devil's  seat,' 
however,  the  circular  rift  vanished ;  nor  could  I  get  a  glimpse 
of  it  afterwards,  turn  as  I  would.  What  seems  to  me  the  chief 
ingenuity  in  this  whole  business,  is  the  fact  (for  repeated  experi- 
ment has  convinced  me  it  is  a  fact)  that  the  circular  opening  in 

i 


THE  GOLD-BUG  107 

question  is  visible  from  no  other  attainable  point  of  view  than 
that  afforded  by  the  narrow  ledge  on  the  face  of  the  rock. 

"  In  this  expedition  to  the  '  Bishop's  Hotel '  I  had  been 
attended  by  Jupiter,  who  had  no  doubt  observed,  for  some 
weeks  past,  the  abstraction  of  my  demeanor,  and  took  especial 
care  not  to  leave  me  alone.  But  on  the  next  day,  getting  up 
very  early,  I  contrived  to  give  him  the  slip,  and  went  into  the 
hills  in  search  of  the  tree.  After  much  toil  I  found  it.  When  I 
came  home  at  night  my  valet  proposed  to  give  me  a  flogging. 
With  the  rest  of  the  adventure  I  believe  you  are  as  well 
acquainted  as  myself." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  "  you  missed  the  spot,  in  the  first 
attempt  at  digging,  through  Jupiter's  stupidity  in  letting  the 
bug  fall  through  the  right  instead  of  through  the  left  eye  of 
the  skull." 

"Precisely.  This  mistake  made  a  difference  of  about  two 
inches  and  a  half  in  the  *  shot '  —  that  is  to  say,  in  the  position 
of  the  peg  nearest  the  tree ;  and  had  the  treasure  been  beneath 
the  *  shot '  the  error  would  have  been  of  little  moment ;  but  the 
'  shot,'  together  with  the  nearest  point  of  the  tree,  were  merely 
two  points  for  the  establishment  of  a  line  of  direction ;  of  course 
the  error,  however  trivial  in  the  beginning,  increased  as  we  pro- 
ceeded with  the  line,  and,  by  the  time  we  had  gone  fifty  feet, 
threw  us  quite  off  the  scent.  But  for  my  deep-seated  convictions 
that  treasure  was  here  somewhere  actually  buried,  we  might 
have  had  all  our  labor  in  vain." 

"  I  presume  the  fancy  of  the  skull — of  letting  fall  a  bullet 
through  the  skull's  eye  —  was  suggested  to  Kidd  by  the  pirati- 
cal flag.  No  doubt  he  felt  a  kind  of  poetical  consistency  in 
recovering  his  money  through  this  ominous  insignium." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  still,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  common-sense 
had  quite  as  much  to  do  with  the  matter  as  poetical  consistency. 
To  be  visible  from  the  Devil's  seat,  it  was  necessary  that  the 


108  SHORT  STORIES 

object,  if  small,  should  be  white ;  and  there  is  nothing  like  your 
human  skull  for  retaining  and  even  increasing  its  whiteness 
under  exposure  to  all  vicissitudes  of  weather." 

"  But  your  grandiloquence,  and  your  conduct  in  swinging  the 
beetle  —  how  excessively  odd  1  I  was  sure  you  were  mad.  And 
why  did  you  insist  on  letting  fall  the  bug,  instead  of  a  bullet, 
from  the  skull  ? " 

"  Why,  to  be  frank,  I  felt  somewhat  annoyed  by  your  evident 
suspicions  touching  my  sanity,  and  so  resolved  to  punish  you 
quietly,  in  my  own  way,  by  a  little  bit  of  sober  mystification. 
For  this  reason  I  swung  the  beetle,  and  for  this  reason  I  let  it 
fall  from  the  tree.  An  observation  of  yours  about  its  great 
weight  suggested  the  latter  idea." 

"Yes,  I  perceive;  and  now  there  is  only  one  point  which 
puzzles  me.  What  are  we  to  make  of  the  skeletons  found  in 
the  hole  ? " 

"  That  is  a  question  I  am  no  more  able  to  answer  than  your- 
self. There  seems,  however,  only  one  plausible  way  of  account- 
ing for  them  —  and  yet  it  is  dreadful  to  believe  in  such  atrocity 
as  my  suggestion  would  imply.  It  is  clear  that  Kidd  —  if  Kidd 
indeed  secreted  this  treasure,  which  I  doubt  not  —  it  is  clear 
that  he  must  have  had  assistance  in  the  labor.  But,  the  worst 
of  this  labor  concluded,  he  may  have  thought  it  expedient  to 
remove  all  participants  in  his  secret.  Perhaps  a  couple  of  blows 
with  a  mattock  were  sufficient,  while  his  coadjutors  were  busy 
in  the  pit ;  perhaps  it  required  a  dozen  —  who  shall  tell  ? " 


V.   A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  (1843) 
BY  CHARLES  DICKENS  (1812-1870) 

\Setting.  In  this  most  famous  of  Christmas  stories  Dickens 
gives  us  the  very  atmosphere  of  the  season  with  all  the  contrasts 
that  poverty  and  wealth,  miserliness  and  charity,  the  past  and 
the  future  can  suggest.  Though  he  had  London  in  mind,  any 
great  industrial  center  would  have  served  as  well,  for  Dickens 
was  thinking  primarily  of  the  relations  between  employer  and 
-employee.  That  Christmas  is  better  kept  in  England  now  than 
when  Dickens  wrote  is  a  triumph  due  more  to  "A  Christmas 
Carol "  than  to  any  other  one  piece  of  prose  or  verse. 

Plot.  The  story  was  planned  rather  than  plotted.  By  calling 
it  a  carol  and  dividing  it  into  staves,  Dickens  would  have  us 
think  of  it  not  as  a  narrative  but  as  a  song,  full  of  the  joy  and 
good  will  that  Christmas  ought  to  diffuse.  It  is  a  rill  from  the 
fountain  of  the  first  great  Christmas  chant,  "  On  earth  peace, 
good  will  toward  men."  The  theme  is  not  so  much  the  duty  of 
service  as  the  joy  of  service,  the  happiness  that  we  feel  in  mak- 
ing others  happy ;  and  the  four  carols  mark  the  four  stages  in 
the  conversion  of  Scrooge  from  solitary  selfishness  to  social 
good  will.  The  plan  is  simple  but  it  is  suffused  with  a  love  and 
sympathy  that  no  one  but  Dickens  or  O.  Henry  could  have 
given  it.  If  "  The  Gold- Bug  "  is  a  triumph  of  the  analytic  intel- 
lect, this  story  is  a  triumph  of  the  social  impulses  that  make  the 
world  better.  "  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Thackeray,  "  a  national 
benefit,  and  to  every  man  and  woman  who  reads  it  a  personal 
kindness."  While  writing  it  Dickens  said:  "I  wept  and  laughed 
and  wept  again."  And  yet  the  psychology  of  the  plot  is  as 
soundly  intellectual  as  the  style  is  emotional.  Dickens  knew 

109 


110  SHORT  STORIES 

that  a  flint-hearted  man  like  Scrooge  could  not  be  changed  by 
forces  brought  to  bear  from  without.  The  appeal  must  come 
from  within.  He  must  himself  see  his  past,  his  present,  and  his 
probable  future,  but  in  a  new  light  and  from  a  wider  angle  of 
vision.  The  dream  is  only  a  means  to  this  end  A  man  moves 
to  a  higher  realm  of  thought  and  action  not  by  learning  new 
truths  but  by  seeing  the  old  truths  differently  related. 

Characters.  Scrooge  is,  of  course,  the  central  character.  He 
is  also  a  perfect  example  of  the  changing  character  as  contrasted 
with  the  stationary  character.  In  fact  all  the  other  characters 
remain  essentially  the  same,  while  Scrooge,  who  at  the  beginning 
is  unfriendly  and  friendless,  becomes  at  the  end  "  as  good  a 
friend,  as  good  a  master,  and  as  good  a  man  as  the  good  old 
city  knew,  or  any  other  good  old  city,  town,  or  borough  in  the 
good  old  world."  It  is  difficult  to  create  any  kind  of  character, 
whether  stationary  or  changing,  but  the  latter  is  the  more  diffi- 
cult Both  demand  rare  powers  of  observation  and  interpreta- 
tion, but  the  ascending  or  descending  character  demands  a 
knowledge  of  the  chemistry  of  conduct  that  only  the  masters 
have. 

The  Cratchits  must  not  be  overlooked.  Tiny  Tim's  "  God 
bless  us  every  one  "  has  at  least  become  the  symbol  of  Christ- 
mas benevolence  wherever  Christmas  is  celebrated  in  English- 
speaking  lands.] 

STAVE  ONE 
MARLEY'S  GHOST 

Marley  was  dead,  to  begin  with.  There  is  no  doubt  whatever 
about  that.  The  register  of  his  burial  was  signed  by  the  clergy- 
man, the  clerk,  the  undertaker,  and  the  chief  mourner.  Scrooge 
signed  it.  And  Scrooge's  name  was  good  upon  'Change  for 
anything  he  chose  to  put  his  hand  to. 

Old  Marley  was  as  dead  as  a  door-nail 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  III 

Scrooge  knew  he  was  dead  ?  Of  course  he  did. .  How  could 
it  be  otherwise?  Scrooge  and  he  were  partners  for  I  don't 
know  how  many  years.  Scrooge  was  his  sole  executor,  his 
sole  administrator,  his  sole  assign,  his  sole  residuary  legatee, 
his  sole  friend,  his  sole  mourner. 

Scrooge  never  painted  out  old  Marley's  name,  however. 
There  it  yet  stood,  years  afterwards,  above  the  warehouse  door, 
—  Scrooge  and  Marley.  The  firm  was  known  as  Scrooge  and 
Marley.  Sometimes  people  new  to  the  business  called  Scrooge 
Scrooge,  and  sometimes  Marley.  He  answered  to  both  names. 
It  was  all  the  same  to  him. 

Oh !  But  he  was  a  tight-fisted  hand  at  the  grindstone,  was 
Scrooge !  a  squeezing,  wrenching,  grasping,  scraping,  clutching, 
covetous  old  sinner !  External  heat  and  cold  had  little  influence 
on  him.  No  warmth  could  warm,  no  cold  could  chill  him.  No 
wind  that  blew  was  bitterer  than  he,  no  falling  snow  was  more 
intent  upon  its  purpose,  no  pelting  rain  less  open  to  entreaty. 
Foul  weather  didn't  know  where  to  have  him.  The  heaviest 
rain  and  snow  and  hail  and  sleet  could  boast  of  the  advantage 
over  him  in  only  one  respect,  —  they  often  "came  down" 
handsomely,  and  Scrooge  never  did. 

Nobody  ever  stopped  him  in  the  street  to  say,  with  gladsome 
looks,  "  My  dear  Scrooge,  how  are  you  ?  When  will  you  come 
to  see  me  ? "  No  beggars  implored  him  to  bestow  a  trifle,  no 
children  asked  him  what  it  was  o'clock,  no  man  or  woman  ever 
once  in  all  his  life  inquired  the  way  to  such  and  such  a  place, 
of  Scrooge.  Even  the  blind  men's  dogs  appeared  to  know  him  ; 
and  when  they  saw  him  coming  on,  would  tug  their  owners  into 
doorways  and  up  courts;  and  then  would  wag  their  tails  as 
though  they  said :  "  No  eye  at  all  is  better  than  an  evil  eye, 
dark  master!" 

But  what  did  Scrooge  care !  It  was  the  very  thing  he  liked. 
To  edge  his  way  along  the  crowded  paths  of  life,  warning  all 


112  SHORT  STORIES 

human  sympathy  to  keep  its  distance,  was  what  the  knowing 
ones  call  "  nuts  "  to  Scrooge. 

Once  upon  a  time  —  of  all  the  good  days  in  the  year,  upon 
a  Christmas  eve  —  old  Scrooge  sat  busy  in  his  counting-house. 
It  was  cold,  bleak,  biting,  foggy  weather;  and  the  city  clocks 
had  only  just  gone  three,  but  it  was  quite  dark  already. 

The  door  of  Scrooge's  counting-house  was  open,  that  he 
might  keep  his  eye  upon  his  clerk,  who,  in  a  dismal  little  cell 
beyond,  a  sort  of  tank,  was  copying  letters.  Scrooge  had  a  very 
small  fire,  but  the  clerk's  fire  was  so  very  much  smaller  that  it 
looked  like  one  coal.  But  he  could  n't  replenish  it,  for  Scrooge 
kept  the  coal-box  in  his  own  room  ;  and  so  surely  as  the 
clerk  came  in  with  the  shovel  the  master  predicted  that  it 
would  be  necessary  for  them  to  part.  Wherefore  the  clerk  put 
on  his  white  comforter,  and  tried  to  warm  himself  at  the 
candle ;  in  which  effort,  not  being  a  man  of  a  strong  imagina- 
tion, he  failed. 

"  A  merry  Christmas,  uncle  !  God  save  you  !  "  cried  a  cheer- 
ful voice.  It  was  the  voice  of  Scrooge's  nephew,  who  came 
upon  him  so  quickly  that  this  was  the  first  intimation  Scrooge 
had  of  his  approach. 

"  Bah  1 "  said  Scrooge ;  "  humbug !  " 

"  Christmas  a  humbug,  uncle !  You  don't  mean  that,  I 
am  sure  ? " 

"  I  do.  Out  upon  merry  Christmas  1  What 's  Christmas  time 
to  you  but  a  time  for  paying  bills  without  money ;  a  time  for 
finding  yourself  a  year  older,  and  not  an  hour  richer;  a  time 
for  balancing  your  books  and  having  every  item  in  'em  through 
a  round  dozen  of  months  presented  dead  against  you  ?  If  I  had 
my  will,  every  idiot  who  goes  about  with  f  Merry  Christmas ' 
on  his  lips  should  be  boiled  with  his  own  pudding,  and  buried 
with  a  stake  of  holly  through  his  heart !  He  should !  " 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  113 

"  Uncle  1 " 

"  Nephew,  keep  Christmas  in  your  own  way,  and  let  me 
keep  it  in  mine." 

"  Keep  it !  But  you  don't  keep  it." 

"  Let  me  leave  it  alone,  then.  Much  good  may  it  do  you ! 
Much  good  it  has  ever  done  you  1 " 

"  There  are  many  things  from  which  I  might  have  derived 
good,  by  which  I  have  not  profited,  I  dare  say,  Christmas 
among  the  rest.  But  I  am  sure  I  have  always  thought  of 
Christmas  time,  when  it  has  come  round,  —  apart  from  the 
veneration  due  to  its  sacred  origin,  if  anything  belonging  to  it 
can  be  apart  from  that, —  as  a  good  time ;  a  kind,  forgiving, 
charitable,  pleasant  time ;  the  only  time  I  know  of,  in  the  long 
calendar  of  the  year,  when  men  and  women  seem  by  one  con- 
sent to  open  their  shut-up  hearts  freely,  and  to  think  of  people 
below  them  as  if  they  really  were  fellow-travellers  to  the  grave, 
and  not  another  race  of  creatures  bound  on  other  journeys. 
And  therefore,  uncle,  though  it  has  never  put  a  scrap  of  gold 
or  silver  in  my  pocket,  I  believe  that  it  has  done  me  good,  and 
will  do  me  good ;  and  I  say,  God  bless  it !  " 

The  clerk  in  the  tank  involuntarily  applauded. 

"  Let  me  hear  another  sound  from  you"  said  Scrooge,  "  and 
you  '11  keep  your  Christmas  by  losing  your  situation  !  —  You  're 
quite  a  powerful  speaker,  sir,"  he  added,  turning  to  his  nephew, 
"  I  wonder  you  don't  go  into  Parliament." 

"  Don't  be  angry,  uncle.    Come  !   Dine  with  us,  to-morrow." 

Scrooge  said  that  he  would  see  him  —  yes,  indeed  he  did. 
He  went  the  whole  length  of  the  expression,  and  said  that  he 
would  see  him  in  that  extremity  first. 

"  But  why  ? "  cried  Scrooge's  nephew.    "  Why  ? " 
. "  Why  did  you  get  married  ? " 

"  Because  I  fell  in  love." 


114  SHORT  STORIES 

"  Because  you  fell  in  love !  "  growled  Scrooge,  as  if  that  were 
the  only  one  thing  in  the  world  more  ridiculous  than  a  merry 
Christmas.  "  Good  afternoon  1 " 

"  Nay,  uncle,  but  you  never  came  to  see  me  before  that 
happened.  Why  give  it  as  a  reason  for  not  coming  now  ?  " 

"  Good  afternoon." 

"  I  want  nothing  from  you ;  I  ask  nothing  of  you ;  why 
cannot  we  be  friends  ? " 

"  Good  afternoon." 

"  I  am  sorry,  with  all  my  heart,  to  find  you  so  resolute.  We 
have  never  had  any  quarrel,  to  which  I  have  been  a  party.  But 
I  have  made  the  trial  in  homage  to  Christmas,  and  I  '11  keep 
my  Christmas  humor  to  the  last.  So,  A  Merry  Christmas, 
uncle !  " 

"  Good  afternoon ! " 

"  And  A  Happy  New  Year !  " 

"  Good  afternoon  1 " 

His  nephew  left  the  room  without  an  angry  word,  notwith- 
standing. The  clerk,  in  letting  Scrooge's  nephew  out,  had  let 
two  other  people  in.  They  were  portly  gentlemen,  pleasant  to 
behold,  and  now  stood,  with  their  hats  off,  in  Scrooge's  office. 
They  had  books  and  papers  in  their  hands,  and  bowed  to  him. 

"  Scrooge  and  Marley's,  I  believe,"  said  one  of  the  gentle- 
men, referring  to  his  list.  "  Have  I  the  pleasure  of  addressing 
Mr.  Scrooge,  or  Mr.  Marley  ? " 

"  Mr.  Marley  has  been  dead  these  seven  years.  He  died 
seven  years  ago,  this  very  night." 

"  At  this  festive  season  of  the  year,  Mr.  Scrooge,"  said  the 
gentleman,  taking  up  a  pen,  "  it  is  more  than  usually  desirable 
that  we  should  make  some  slight  provision  for  the  poor  and 
destitute,  who  suffer  greatly  at  the  present  time.  Many  thou- 
sands are  in  want  of  common  necessaries ;  hundreds  of  thousands 
are  in  want  of  common  comforts,  sir." 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  115 

"  Are  there  no  prisons  ? " 

"  Plenty  of  prisons.  But  under  the  impression  that  they 
scarcely  furnish  Christian  cheer  of  mind  or  body  to  the  unoffend- 
ing multitude,  a  few  of  us  are  endeavoring  to  raise  a  fund  to 
buy  the  poor  some  meat  and  drink,  and  means  of  warmth.  We 
choose  this  time,  because  it  is  a  time  of  all  others  when  Want 
is  keenly  felt  and  Abundance  rejoices.  What  shall  I  put  you 
down  for?" 

"  Nothing ! " 

"You  wish  to  be  anonymous  ? " 

"  I  wish  to  be  left  alone.  Since  you  ask  me  what  I  wish, 
gentlemen,  that  is  my  answer.  I  don't  make  merry  myself  at 
Christmas,  and  I  can't  afford  to  make  idle  people  merry.  I  help 
to  support  the  prisons  and  the  workhouses,  —  they  cost  enough, 
—  and  those  who  are  badly  off  must  go  there." 

"  Many  can't  go  there  ;  and  many  would  rather  die." 

"  If  they  would  rather  die,  they  had  better  do  it,  and  decrease 
the  surplus  population." 

At  length  the  hour  of  shutting  up  the  counting-house  arrived. 
With  an  ill-will  Scrooge,  dismounting  from  his  stool,  tacitly 
admitted  the  fact  to  the  expectant  clerk  in  the  Tank,  who 
instantly  snuffed  his  candle  out,  and  put  on  his  hat. 

"  You  '11  want  all  day  to-morrow,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  If  quite  convenient,  sir." 

"  It 's  not  convenient,  and  it 's  not  fair.  If  I  was  to  stop  half  a 
crown  for  it,  you  'd  think  yourself  mightily  ill-used,  I  '11  be  bound  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And  yet  you  don't  think  me  ill-used,  when  I  pay  a  day's 
wages  for  no  work." 

"  It 's  only  once  a  year,  sir." 

"  A  poor  excuse  for  picking  a  man's  pocket  every  twenty- 
fifth  of  December !  But  I  suppose  you  must  have  the  whole 
day.  Be  here  all  the  earlier  next  morning." 


Il6  SHORT  STORIES 

The  clerk  promised  that  he  would ;  and  Scrooge  walked  out 
with  a  growl.  The  office  was  closed  in  a  twinkling,  and  the 
clerk,  with  the  long  ends  of  his  white  comforter  dangling  below 
his  waist  (for  he  boasted  no  great-coat),  went  down  a  slide,  at 
the  end  of  a  lane  of  boys,  twenty  times,  in  honor  of  its  being 
Christmas  eve,  and  then  ran  home  as  hard  as  he  could  pelt,  to 
play  at  blind-man's-buff. 

Scrooge  took  his  melancholy  dinner  in  his  usual  melancholy 
tavern ;  and  having  read  all  the  newspapers,  and  beguiled  the 
rest  of  the  evening  with  his  banker's  book,  went  home  to  bed. 
He  lived  in  chambers  which  had  once  belonged  to  his  deceased 
partner.  They  were  a  gloomy  suite  of  rooms,  in  a  lowering 
pile  of  building  up  a  yard.  The  building  was  old  enough  now, 
and  dreary  enough ;  for  nobody  lived  in  it  but  Scrooge,  the 
other  rooms  being  all  let  out  as  offices. 

Now  it  is  a  fact,  that  there  was  nothing  at  all  particular 
about  the  knocker  on  the  door  of  this  house,  except  that  it  was 
very  large ;  also,  that  Scrooge  had  seen  it,  night  and  morning, 
during  his  whole  residence  in  that  place ;  also,  that  Scrooge  had 
as  little  of  what  is  called  fancy  about  him  as  any  man  in  the 
city  of  London.  And  yet  Scrooge,  having  his  key  in  the  lock 
of  the  door,  saw  in  the  knocker,  without  its  undergoing  any  in- 
termediate process  of  change,  not  a  knocker,  but  Marley's  face. 

Marley's  face,  with  a  dismal  light  about  it,  like  a  bad  lobster 
in  a  dark  cellar.  It  was  not  angry  or  ferocious,  but  it  looked 
at  Scrooge  as  Marley  used  to  look,  —  with  ghostly  spectacles 
turned  up  upon  its  ghostly  forehead. 

As  Scrooge  looked  fixedly  at  this  phenomenon,  it  was  a 
knocker  again.  He  said,  "  Pooh,  pooh !  "  and  closed  the  door 
with  a  bang. 

The  sound  resounded  through  the  house  like  thunder.  Every 
room  above,  and  every  cask  in  the  wine-merchant's  cellars 
below,  appeared  to  have  a  separate  peal  of  echoes  of  its  own. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  1 1/ 

Scrooge  was  not  a  man  to  be  frightened  by  echoes.  He 
fastened  the  door,  and  walked  across  the  hall,  and  up  the  stairs. 
Slowly,  too,  trimming  his  candle  as  he  went. 

Up  Scrooge  went,  not  caring  a  button  for  its  being  very- 
dark.  Darkness  is  cheap,  and  Scrooge  liked  it.  But  before  he 
shut  his  heavy  door,  he  walked  through  his  rooms  to  see  that 
all  was  right.  He  had  just  enough  recollection  of  the  face  to 
desire  to  do  that. 

Sitting-room,  bedroom,  lumber-room,  all  as  they  should  be. 
Nobody  under  the  table,  nobody  under  the  sofa ;  a  small  fire  in 
the  grate ;  spoon  and  basin  ready ;  and  the  little  saucepan  of 
gruel  (Scrooge  had  a  cold  in  his  head)  upon  the  hob.  Nobody 
under  the  bed ;  nobody  in  the  closet ;  nobody  in  his  dressing- 
gown,  which  was  hanging  up  in  a  suspicious  attitude  against 
the  wall.  Lumber-room  as  usual.  Old  fire-guard,  old  shoes,  two 
fish-baskets,  washing-stand  on  three  legs,  and  a  poker. 

Quite  satisfied,  he  closed  his  door,  and  locked  himself  in; 
double-locked  himself  in,  which  was  not  his  custom.  Thus 
secured  against  surprise,  he  took  off  his  cravat,  put  on  his 
dressing-gown  and  slippers  and  his  night-cap,  and  sat  down 
before  the  very  low  fire  to  take  his  gruel. 

As  he  threw  his  head  back  in  the  chair,  his  glance  happened 
to  rest  upon  a  bell,  a  disused  bell,  that  hung  in  the  room,  and 
communicated,  for  some  purpose  now  forgotten,  with  a  cham- 
ber in  the  highest  story  of  the  building.  It  was  with  great 
astonishment,  and  with  a  strange,  inexplicable  dread,  that,  as 
he  looked,  he  saw  this  bell  begin  to  swing.  Soon  it  rang  out 
loudly,  and  so  did  every  bell  in  the  house. 

This  was  succeeded  by  a  clanking  noise,  deep  down  below, 
as  if  some  person  were  dragging  a  heavy  chain  over  the  casks 
in  the  wine-merchant's  cellar. 

Then  he  heard  the  noise  much  louder,  on  the  floors  below; 
then  coming  up  the  stairs ;  then  coming  straight  towards  his  door. 


Il8  SHORT  STORIES 

It  came  on  through  the  heavy  door,  and  a  spectre  passed 
into  the  room  before  his  eyes.  And  upon  its  coming  in,  the 
dying  flame  leaped  up,  as  though  it  cried,  "  I  know  him ! 
Marley's  ghost!" 

The  same  face,  the  very  same.  Marley  in  his  pigtail,  usual 
waistcoat,  tights,  and  boots.  His  body  was  transparent;  so 
that  Scrooge,  observing  him,  and  looking  through  his  waistcoat, 
could  see  the  two  buttons  on  his  coat  behind. 

Scrooge  had  often  heard  it  said  that  Marley  had  no  bowels, 
but  he  had  never  believed  it  until  now. 

No,  nor  did  he  believe  it  even  now.  Though  he  looked  the 
phantom  through  and  through,  and  saw  it  standing  before  him, 
—  though  he  felt  the  chilling  influence  of  its  death-cold  eyes, 
and  noticed  the  very  texture  of  the  folded  kerchief  bound  about 
its  head  and  chin,  —  he  was  still  incredulous. 

"How  now!"  said  Scrooge,  caustic  and  cold  as  ever- 
"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ? " 

"  Much ! "  —  Marley's  voice,  no  doubt  about  it. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"  Ask  me  who  I  was" 

"  Who  were  you,  then  ?  " 

"  In  life  I  was  your  partner,  Jacob  Marley." 

"Can  you  —  can  you  sit  down ? " 

"  I  can." 

"  Do  it,  then." 

Scrooge  asked  the  question,  because  he  did  n't  know  whether 
a  ghost  so  transparent  might  find  himself  in  a  condition  to  take 
a  chair ;  and  felt  that,  in  the  event  of  its  being  impossible,  it 
might  involve  the  necessity  of  an  embarrassing  explanation. 
But  the  ghost  sat  down  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fireplace,  as 
if  he  were  quite  used  to  it. 

"  You  don't  believe  in  me." 

"  I  don't." 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  1 19 

"  What  evidence  would  you  have  of  my  reality  beyond  that 
of  your  senses  ? " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Why  do  you  doubt  your  senses  ? " 

"  Because  a  little  thing  affects  them.  A  slight  disorder  of  the 
stomach  makes  them  cheats.  You  may  be  an  undigested  bit  of 
beef,  a  blot  of  mustard,  a  crumb  of  cheese,  a  fragment  of  an 
underdone  potato.  There 's  more  of  gravy  than  of  grave  about 
you,  whatever  you  are  !  " 

Scrooge  was  not  much  in  the  habit  of  cracking  jokes,  nor  did 
he  feel  in  his  heart  by  any  means  waggish  then.  The  truth  is, 
that  he  tried  to  be  smart,  as  a  means  of  distracting  his  own 
attention,  and  keeping  down  his  horror. 

But  how  much  greater  was  his  horror  when,  the  phantom 
taking  off  the  bandage  round  its  head,  as  if  it  were  too 
warm  to  wear  in-doors,  its  lower  jaw  dropped  down  upon  its 
breast ! 

"  Mercy !  Dreadful  apparition,  why  do  you  trouble  me  ? 
Why  do  spirits  walk  the  earth,  and  why  do  they  come  to  me  ? " 

"It  is  required  of  every  man,  that  the  spirit  within  him 
should  walk  abroad  among  his  fellow-men,  and  travel  far  and 
wide ;  and  if  that  spirit  goes  not  forth  in  life,  it  is  condemned 
to  do  so  after  death.  I  cannot  tell  you  all  I  would.  A  very 
little  more  is  permitted  to  me.  I  cannot  rest,  I  cannot  stay,  I 
cannot  linger  anywhere.  My  spirit  never  walked  beyond  our 
counting-house,  —  mark  me!  —  in  life  my  spirit  never  roved 
beyond  the  narrow  limits  of  our  money-changing  hole;  and 
weary  journeys  lie  before  me  1 " 

"  Seven  years  dead.  And  travelling  all  the  time  ?  You 
travel  fast?" 

"  On  the  wings  of  the  wind." 

"  You  might  have  got  over  a  great  quantity  of  ground  in 
seven  years." 


120  SHORT  STORIES 

"  O  blind  man,  blind  man !  not  to  know  that  ages  of  inces* 
sant  labor  by  immortal  creatures  for  this  earth  must  pass  into 
eternity  before  the  good  of  which  it  is  susceptible  is  all  devel* 
oped.  Not  to  know  that  any  Christian  spirit  working  kindly  in 
its  little  sphere,  whatever  it  may  be,  will  find  its  mortal  life  too 
short  for  its  vast  means  of  usefulness.  Not  to  know  that  no 
space  of  regret  can  make  amends  for  one  life's  opportunities 
misused !  Yet  I  was  like  this  man ;  I  once  was  like  this  man  !  " 

"  But  you  were  always  a  good  man  of  business,  Jacob," 
faltered  Scrooge,  who  now  began  to  apply  this  to  himself. 

"  Business ! "  cried  the  ghost,  wringing  its  hands  again. 
"  Mankind  was  my  business.  The  common  welfare  was  my 
business;  charity,  mercy,  forbearance,  benevolence,  were  all 
my  business.  The  dealings  of  my  trade  were  but  a  drop  of 
water  in  the  comprehensive  ocean  of  my  business." 

Scrooge  was  very  much  dismayed  to  hear  the  spectre  going 
on  at  this  rate,  and  began  to  quake  exceedingly. 

"  Hear  me  !    My  time  is  nearly  gone." 

"  I  will.  But  don't  be  hard  upon  me  I  Don't  be  flowery, 
Jacob!  Pray!" 

"  I  am  here  to-night  to  warn  you  that  you  have  yet  a  chance 
and  hope  of  escaping  my  fate.  A  chance  and  hope  of  my 
procuring,  Ebenezer." 

"  You  were  always  a  good  friend  to  me.    Thank  }ee  !  " 

"  You  will  be  haunted  by  Three  Spirits." 

"  Is  that  the  chance  and  hope  you  mentioned,  Jacob  ?  I  —  I 
think  I'd  rather  not." 

"  Without  their  visits,  you  cannot  hope  to  shun  the  path  I 
tread.  Expect  the  first  to-morrow  night,  when  the  bell  tolls 
One.  Expect  the  second  on  the  next  night  at  the  same  hour. 
The  third,  upon  the  next  night,  when  the  last  stroke  of  Twelve 
has  ceased  to  vibrate.  Look  to  see  me  no  more  ;  and  look  that, 
for  your  own  sake,  you  remember  what  has  passed  between  us !  " 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  121 

It  walked  backward  from  him;  and  at  every  step  it  took, 
the  window  raised  itself  a  little,  so  that,  when  the  apparition 
reached  it,  it  was  wide  open. 

Scrooge  closed  the  window,  and  examined  the  door  by  which 
the  Ghost  had  entered.  It  was  double-locked,  as  he  had  locked 
it  with  his  own  hands,  and  the  bolts  were  undisturbed.  Scrooge 
tried  to  say,  "  Humbug ! "  but  stopped  at  the  first  syllable. 
And  being,  from  the  emotion  he  had  undergone,  or  the  fatigues 
of  the  day,  or  his  glimpse  of  the  t  invisible  world,  or  the  dull 
conversation  of  the  Ghost,  or  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  much  in 
need  of  repose,  he  went  straight  to  bed,  without  undressing, 
and  fell  asleep  on  the  instant. 


STAVE  TWO 
THE  FIRST  OF  THE  THREE  SPIRITS 

When  Scrooge  awoke,  it  was  so  dark,  that,  looking  out  of 
bed,  he  could  scarcely  distinguish  the  transparent  window  from 
the  opaque  walls  of  his  chamber,  until  suddenly  the  church 
clock  tolled  a  deep,  dull,  hollow,  melancholy  ONE. 

Light  flashed  up  in  the  room  upon  the  instant,  and  the  cur- 
tains of  his  bed  were  drawn  aside  by  a  strange  figure,  —  like  a 
child  :  yet  not  so  like  a  child  as  like  an  old  man,  viewed  through 
some  supernatural  medium,  which  gave  him  the  appearance 
of  having  receded  from  the  view,  and  being  diminished  to  a 
child's  proportions.  Its  hair,  which  hung  about  its  neck  and 
down  its  back,  was  white  as  if  with  age ;  and  yet  the  face  had 
not  a  wrinkle  in  it,  and  the  tenderest  bloom  was  on  the  skin. 
It  held  a  branch  of  fresh  green  holly  in  its  hand;  and,  in 
singular  contradiction  of  that  wintry  emblem,  had  its  dress 
trimmed  with  summer  flowers.  But  the  strangest  thing  about 
it  was,  that  from  the  crown  of  its  head  there  sprung  a  bright 


122  SHORT  STORIES 

clear  jet  of  light,  by  which  all  this  was  visible ;  and  which  was 
doubtless  the  occasion  of  its  using,  in  its  duller  moments,  a 
great  extinguisher  for  a  cap,  which  it  now  held  under  its  arm. 

"  Are  you  the  Spirit,  sir,  whose  coming  was  foretold  to  me  ? " 

"  I  am  1 " 

"  Who  and  what  are  you  ? " 

"  I  am  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Past." 

"  Long  past  ?  " 

"  No.  Your  past.  The  things  that  you  will  see  with  me  are 
shadows  of  the  things  that  have  been;  they  will  have  no  con- 
sciousness of  us." 

Scrooge  then  made  bold  to  inquire  what  business  brought 
him  there. 

"  Your  welfare.    Rise,  and  walk  with  me  !  " 

It  would  have  been  in  vain  for  Scrooge  to  plead  that  the 
weather  and  the  hour  were  not  adapted  to  pedestrian  purposes ; 
that  the  bed  was  warm,  and  the  thermometer  a  long  way  below 
freezing ;  that  he  was  clad  but  lightly  in  his  slippers,  dressing- 
gown,  and  nightcap ;  and  that  he  had  a  cold  upon  him  at  that 
time.  The  grasp,  though  gentle  as  a  woman's  hand,  was  not  to 
be  resisted.  He  rose ;  but,  finding  that  the  Spirit  made  towards 
the  window,  clasped  its  robe  in  supplication. 

"  I  am  a  mortal,  and  liable  to  fall." 

"  Bear  but  a  touch  of  my  hand  there"  said  the  Spirit,  laying 
it  upon  his  heart,  "  and  you  shall  be  upheld  in  more  than  this  !  " 

As  the  words  were  spoken,  they  passed  through  the  wall,  and 
stood  in  the  busy  thoroughfares  of  a  city.  It  was  made  plain 
enough  by  the  dressing  of  the  shops  that  here,  too,  it  was 
Christmas  time. 

The  Ghost  stopped  at  a  certain  warehouse  door,  and  asked 
Scrooge  if  he  knew  it. 

"  Know  it !   Was  I  apprenticed  here !  " 

They  went  in.    At  sight  of  an  old  gentleman  in  a  Welsh  wig, 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  123 

sitting  behind  such  a  high  desk  that,  if  he  had  been  two  inches 
taller,  he  must  have  knocked  his  head  against  the  ceiling,  Scrooge 
cried  in  great  excitement :  "  Why,  it 's  old  Fezziwig  I  Bless  his 
heart,  it 's  Fezziwig,  alive  again ! " 

Old  Fezziwig  laid  down  his  pen,  and  looked  up  at  the  clock, 
which  pointed  to  the  hour  of  seven.  He  rubbed  his  hands; 
adjusted  his  capacious  waistcoat ;  laughed  all  over  himself,  from 
his  shoes  to  his  organ  of  benevolence ;  and  called  out  in  a  com- 
fortable, oily,  rich,  fat,  jovial  voice,  "  Yo  ho,  there  !  Ebenezer ! 
Dick ! " 

A  living  and  moving  picture  of  Scrooge's  former  self,  a  young 
man,  came  briskly  in,  accompanied  by  his  fellow- 'prentice. 

"Dick  Wilkins,  to  be  sure!"  said  Scrooge  to  the  Ghost. 
"  My  old  fellow-  'prentice,  bless  me,  yes.  There  he  is.  He  was 
very  much  attached  to  me,  was  Dick.  Poor  Dick !  Dear,  dear ! " 

"  Yo  ho,  my  boys !  "  said  Fezziwig.  "  No  more  work  to-night. 
Christmas  eve,  Dick.  Christmas,  Ebenezer !  Let 's  have  the 
shutters  up,  before  a  man  can  say  Jack  Robinson  !  Clear  away, 
my  lads,  and  let 's  have  lots  of  room  here  1 " 

Clear  away !  There  was  nothing  they  would  n't  have  cleared 
away,  or  could  n't  have  cleared  away,  with  old  Fezziwig  looking 
on.  It  was  done  in  a  minute.  Every  movable  was  packed  off, 
as  if  it  were  dismissed  from  public  life  forevermore ;  the  floor 
was  swept  and  watered,  the  lamps  were  trimmed,  fuel  was 
heaped  upon  the  fire;  and  the  warehouse  was  as  snug  and 
warm  and  dry  and  bright  a  ball-room  as  you  would  desire  to 
see  upon  a  winter's  night. 

In  came  a  fiddler  with  a  music-book,  and  went  up  to  the  lofty 
desk,  and  made  an  orchestra  of  it,  and  tuned  like  fifty  stomach- 
aches. In  came  Mrs.  Fezziwig,  one  vast  substantial  smile.  In 
came  the  three  Miss  Fezziwigs,  beaming  and  lovable.  In  came 
the  six  young  followers  whose  hearts  they  broke.  In  came  all 
the  young  men  and  women  employed  in  the  business.  In  came 


124  SHORT  STORIES 

the  housemaid,  with  her  cousin  the  baker.  In  came  the  cook, 
with  her  brother's  particular  friend  the  milkman.  In  they  all 
came  one  after  another ;  some  shyly,  some  boldly,  some  grace- 
fully, some  awkwardly,  some  pushing,  some  pulling ;  in  they  all 
came,  anyhow  and  everyhow.  Away  they  all  went,  twenty 
couple  at  once;  hands  half  round  and  back  again  the  other 
way ;  down  the  middle  and  up  again ;  round  and  round  in  vari- 
ous stages  of  affectionate  grouping ;  old  top  couple  always 
turning  up  in  the  wrong  place ;  new  top  couple  starting  off 
again,  as  soon  as  they  got  there;  all  top  couples  at  last,  and 
not  a  bottom  one  to  help  them.  When  this  result  was  brought 
about,  old  Fezziwig,  clapping  his  hands  to  stop  the  dance,  cried 
out,  "  Well  done ! "  and  the  fiddler  plunged  his  hot  face  into  a 
pot  of  porter  especially  provided  for  that  purpose. 

There  were  more  dances,  and  there  were  forfeits,  and  more 
dances,  and  there  was  cake,  and  there  was  negus,  and  there 
was  a  great  piece  of  Cold  Roast,  and  there  was  a  great  piece  of 
Cold  Boiled,  and  there  were  mince-pies,  and  plenty  of  beer. 
But  the  great  effect  of  the  evening  came  after  the  Roast  and 
Boiled,  when  the  fiddler  struck  up  "  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley." 
Then  old  Fezziwig  stood  out  to  dance  with  Mrs.  Fezziwig.  Top 
couple,  too ;  with  a  good  stiff  piece  of  work  cut  out  for  them ; 
three  or  four  and  twenty  pair  of  partners ;  people  who  were 
not  to  be  trifled  with ;  people  who  would  dance,  and  had  no 
notion  of  walking. 

But  if  they  had  been  twice  as  many,  —  four  times,  —  old 
Fezziwig  would  have  been  a  match  for  them,  and  so  would 
Mrs.  Fezziwig.  As  to  her,  she  was  worthy  to  be  his  partner  in 
every  sense  of  the  term.  A  positive  light  appeared  to  issue  from 
Fezzi wig's  calves.  They  shone  in  every  part  of  the  dance.  You 
could  n't  have  predicted,  at  any  given  time,  what  would  become 
of  'em  next.  And  when  old  Fezziwig  and  Mrs.  Fezziwig  had 
gone  all  through  the  dance,  —  advance  and  retire,  turn  your 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  125 

partner,  bow  and  courtesy,  cockscrew,  thread  the  needle,  and 
back  again  to  your  place,  —  Fezziwig  "cut," — cut  so  deftly, 
that  he  appeared  to  wink  with  his  legs. 

When  the  clock  struck  eleven  this  domestic  ball  broke  up. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fezziwig  took  their  stations,  one  on  either  side 
the  door,  and,  shaking  hands  with  every  person  individually  as 
he  or  she  went  out,  wished  him  or  her  a  Merry  Christmas. 
When  everybody  had  retired  but  the  two  'prentices,  they  did 
the  same  to  them;  and  thus  the  cheerful  voices  died  away, 
and  the  lads  were  left  to  their  beds,  which  were  under  a  counter 
in  the  back  shop. 

"  A  small  matter,"  said  the  Ghost,  "  to  make  these  silly  folks 
so  full  of  gratitude.  He  has  spent  but  a  few  pounds  of  your 
mortal  money,  —  three  or  four  perhaps.  Is  that  so  much  that 
he  deserves  this  praise  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  that,"  said  Scrooge,  heated  by  the  remark,  and 
speaking  unconsciously  like  his  former,  not  his  latter  self,  — 
"it  isn't  that,  Spirit.  He  has  the  power  to  render  us  happy  or 
unhappy ;  to  make  our  service  light  or  burdensome,  a  pleasure 
or  a  toil.  Say  that  his  power  lies  in  words  and  looks  ;  in  things 
so  slight  and  insignificant  that  it  is  impossible  to  add  and  count 
'em  up :  what  then  ?  The  happiness  he  gives  is  quite  as  great 
as  if  it  cost  a  fortune." 

He  felt  the  Spirit's  glance,  and  stopped. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? " 

"  Nothing  particular." 

"Something,  I  think?"  « 

"  No,  no.  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  say  a  word  or  two  to 
my  clerk  just  now.  That 's  all." 

"  My  time  grows  short,"  observed  the  Spirit.    "  Quick ! " 

This  was  not  addressed  to  Scrooge,  or  to  any  one  whom  he 
could  see,  but  it  produced  an  immediate  effect.  For  again  he 
saw  himself.  He  was  older  now ;  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life. 


126  SHORT  STORIES 

He  was  not  alone,  but  sat  by  the  side  of  a  fair  young  girl  in 
a  black  dress,  in  whose  eyes  there  were  tears. 

"  It  matters  little,"  she  said  softly  to  Scrooge's  former  self. 
"  To  you,  very  little.  Another  idol  has  displaced  me  ;  and  if  it 
can  comfort  you  in  time  to  come,  as  I  would  have  tried  to  do, 
I  have  no  just  cause  to  grieve." 

"  What  Idol  has  displaced  you  ? " 

"  A  golden  one.  You  fear  the  world  too  much.  I  have  seen 
your  nobler  aspirations  fall  off  one  by  one,  until  the  master- 
passion,  Gain,  engrosses  you.  Have  I  not  ? " 

"  What  then  ?  Even  if  I  have  grown  so  much  wiser,  what 
then?  I  am  not  changed  towards  you.  Have  I  ever  sought 
release  from  our  engagement  ? " 

"  In  words,  no.   Never." 

"  In  what,  then  ? " 

"  In  a  changed  nature ;  in  an  altered  spirit ;  in  another  atmos- 
phere of  life ;  another  Hope  as  its  great  end  If  you  were  free 
to-day,  to-morrow,  yesterday,  can  even  I  believe  that  you  would 
choose  a  dowerless  girl ;  or,  choosing  her,  do  I  not  know  that 
your  repentance  and  regret  would  surely  follow  ?  I  do ;  and  I 
release  you.  With  a  full  heart,  for  the  love  of  him  you  once 
were." 

"  Spirit !  remove  me  from  this  place." 

"  I  told  you  these  were  shadows  of  the  things  that  have  been," 
said  the  Ghost.  "  That  they  are  what  they  are,  do  not  blame 
mel" 

"Remove  mel"  Scrooge  exclaimed.  "I  cannot  bear  it! 
Leave  me  !  Take  me  back.  Haunt  me  no  longer !  " 

As  he  struggled  with  the  Spirit  he  was  conscious  of  being 
exhausted,  and  overcome  by  an  irresistible  drowsiness ;  and,  fur- 
ther, of  being  in  his  own  bedroom.  He  had  barely  time  to  reel 
to  bed  before  he  sank  into  a  heavy  sleep. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  I2/ 

STAVE  THREE 
THE  SECOND  OF  THE  THREE  SPIRITS 

Scrooge  awoke  in  his  own  bedroom.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  that.  But  it  and  his  own  adjoining  sitting-room,  into 
which  he  shuffled  in  his  slippers,  attracted  by  a  great  light  there, 
had  undergone  a  surprising  transformation.  The  walls  and  ceil- 
ing were  so  hung  with  living  green,  that  it  looked  a  perfect 
grove.  The  leaves  of  holly,  mistletoe,  and  ivy  reflected  back  the 
light,  as  if  so  many  little  mirrors  had  been  scattered  there ;  and 
such  a  mighty  blaze  went  roaring  up  the  chimney,  as  that  petri- 
faction of  a  hearth  had  never  known  in  Scrooge's  time,  or 
Marley's,  or  for  many  and  many  a  winter  season  gone.  Heaped 
upon  the  floor,  to  form  a  kind  of  throne,  were  turkeys,  geese, 
game,  brawn,  great  joints  of  meat,  sucking  pigs,  long  wreaths 
of  sausages,  mince-pies,  plum-puddings,  barrels  of  oysters,  red- 
hot  chestnuts,  cherry-cheeked  apples,  juicy  oranges,  luscious 
pears,  immense  twelfth-cakes,  and  great  bowls  of  punch.  In 
easy  state  upon  this  couch  there  sat  a  Giant  glorious  to  see; 
who  bore  a  glowing  torch,  in  shape  not  unlike  Plenty's  horn, 
and  who  raised  it  high  to  shed  its  light  on  Scrooge,  as  he  came 
peeping  round  the  door. 

"  Come  in,  —  come  in !  and  know  me  better,  man  1  I  am 
the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present.  Look  upon  me !  You  have 
never  seen  the  like  of  me  before ! " 

"  Never." 

"  Have  never  walked  forth  with  the  younger  members  of 
my  family ;  meaning  (for  I  am  very  young)  my  elder  brothers 
born  in  these  later  years  ?  "  pursued  the  Phantom. 

"  I  don't  think  I  have,  I  am  afraid  I  have  not.  Have  you 
had  many  brothers,  Spirit  ?  " 

"  More  than  eighteen  hundred." 


128  SHORT  STORIES 

"A  tremendous  family  to  provide  for  I  Spirit,  conduct  me 
where  you  will.  I  went  forth  last  night  on  compulsion,  and  I 
learnt  a  lesson  which  is  working  now.  To-night,  if  you  have 
aught  to  teach  me,  let  me  profit  by  it." 

"  Touch  my  robe  I  " 

Scrooge  did  as  he  was  told,  and  held  it  fast. 

The  room  and  its  contents  all  vanished  instantly,  and  they 
stood  in  the  city  streets  upon  a  snowy  Christmas  morning. 

Scrooge  and  the  Ghost  passed  on,  invisible,  straight  to 
Scrooge's  clerk's ;  and  on  the  threshold  of  the  door  the  Spirit 
smiled,  and  stopped  to  bless  Bob  Cratchit's  dwelling  with  the 
sprinklings  of  his  torch.  Think  of  that  1  Bob  had  but  fifteen 
"  Bob  "  l  a  week  himself ;  he  pocketed  on  Saturdays  but  fifteen 
copies  of  his  Christian  name ;  and  yet  the  Ghost  of  Christmas 
Present  blessed  his  four-roomed  house  ! 

Then  up  rose  Mrs.  Cratchit,  Cratchit's  wife,  dressed  out  but 
poorly  in  a  twice-turned  gown,  but  brave  in  ribbons,  which  are 
cheap  and  make  a  goodly  show  for  sixpence ;  and  she  laid  the 
cloth,  assisted  by  Belinda  Cratchit,  second  of  her  daughters, 
also  brave  in  ribbons ;  while  Master  Peter  Cratchit  plunged  a 
fork  into  the  saucepan  of  potatoes,  and,  getting  the  corners  of 
his  monstrous  shirt-collar  (Bob's  private  property,  conferred 
upon  his  son  and  heir  in  honor  of  the  day)  into  his  mouth, 
rejoiced  to  find  himself  so  gallantly  attired,  and  yearned  to 
show  his  linen  in  the  fashionable  Parks.  And  now  two  smaller 
Cratchits,  boy  and  girl,  came  tearing  in,  screaming  that  outside 
the  baker's  they  had  smelt  the  goose,  and  known  it  for  their 
own;  and,  basking  in  luxurious  thoughts  of  sage  and  onion, 
these  young  Cratchits  danced  about  the  table,  and  exalted 
Master  Peter  Cratchit  to  the  skies,  while  he  (not  proud,  al- 
though his  collars  nearly  choked  him)  blew  the  fire,  until  the 
1  Shillings. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  129 

slow  potatoes,  bubbling  up,  knocked  loudly  at  the  saucepan-lid 
to  be  let  out  and  peeled. 

"  What  has  ever  got  your  precious  father,  then  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Cratchit.  "And  your  brother  Tiny  Tim!  And  Martha  warn't 
as  late  last  Christmas  day  by  half  an  hour ! " 

"Here's  Martha,  mother!"  said  a  girl,  appearing  as  she 
spoke. 

"  Here's  Martha,  mother!"  cried  the  two  young  Cratchits. 
"  Hurrah !  There 's  such  a  goose,  Martha !  " 

"  Why,  bless  your  heart  alive,  my  dear,  how  late  you  are  ? " 
said  Mrs.  Cratchit,  kissing  her  a  dozen  times,  and  taking  off 
her  shawl  and  bonnet  for  her. 

"  We  'd  a  deal  of  work  to  finish  up  last  night,"  replied  the 
girl,  "  and  had  to  clear  away  this  morning,  mother ! " 

"Well!  Never  mind  so  long  as  you  are  come,"  said  Mrs. 
Cratchit.  "  Sit  ye  down  before  the  fire,  my  dear,  and  have  a 
warm,  Lord  bless  ye  !  " 

"  No,  no !  There 's  father  coming,"  cried  the  two  young 
Cratchits,  who  were  everywhere  at  once.  "  Hide,  Martha,  hide ! " 

So  Martha  hid  herself,  and  in  came  little  Bob,  the  father, 
with  at  least  three  feet  of  comforter,  exclusive  of  the  fringe, 
hanging  down  before  him ;  and  his  threadbare  clothes  darned 
up  and  brushed,  to  look  seasonable ;  and  Tiny  Tim  upon  his 
shoulder.  Alas  for  Tiny  Tim,  he  bore  a  little  crutch,  and  had 
his  limbs  supported  by  an  iron  frame ! 

"  Why,  where  's  our  Martha  ? "  cried  Bob  Cratchit,  looking 
round. 

"  Not  coming,"  said  Mrs.  Cratchit 

"Not  coming!"  said  Bob,  with  a  sudden  declension  in  his 
high  spirits;  for  he  had  been  Tim's  blood-horse  all  the  way 
from  church,  and  had  come  home  rampant,  —  "not  coming 
upon  Christmas  day  1 " 


130  SHORT   STORIES 

Martha  didn't  like  to  see  him  disappointed,  if  it  were  only 
in  joke ;  so  she  came  out  prematurely  from  behind  the  closet 
door,  and  ran  into  his  arms,  while  the  two  young  Cratchits 
hustled  Tiny  Tim,  and  bore  him  off  into  the  wash-house  that 
he  might  hear  the  pudding  singing  in  the  copper. 

"And  how  did  little  Tim  behave?"  asked  Mrs.  Cratchit, 
when  she  had  rallied  Bob  on  his  credulity,  and  Bob  had  hugged 
his  daughter  to  his  heart's  content. 

"  As  good  as  gold,"  said  Bob,  "  and  better.  Somehow  he 
gets  thoughtful,  sitting  by  himself  so  much,  and  thinks  the 
strangest  things  you  ever  heard.  He  told  me,  coming  home, 
that  he  hoped  the  people  saw  him  in  the  church,  because  he 
was  a  cripple,  and  it  might  be  pleasant  to  them  to  remember, 
upon  Christmas  day,  who  made  lame  beggars  walk  and  blind 
men  see." 

Bob's  voice  was  tremulous  when  he  told  them  this,  and 
trembled  more  when  he  said  that  Tiny  Tim  was  growing 
strong  and  hearty. 

His  active  little  crutch  was  heard  upon  the  floor,  and  back 
came  Tiny  Tim  before  another  word  was  spoken,  escorted  by 
his  brother  and  sister  to  his  stool  beside  the  fire ;  and  while 
Bob,  turning  up  his  cuffs,  —  as  if,  poor  fellow,  they  were  capa- 
ble of  being  made  more  shabby,  —  compounded  some  hot  mix- 
ture in  a  jug  with  gin  and  lemons,  and  stirred  it  round  and 
round  and  put  it  on  the  hob  to  simmer,  Master  Peter  and  the 
two  ubiquitous  young  Cratchits  went  to  fetch  the  goose,  with 
which  they  soon  returned  in  high  procession.1 

Mrs.  Cratchit  made  the  gravy  (ready  beforehand  in  a  little 
saucepan)  hissing  hot ;  Master  Peter  mashed  the  potatoes  with 
incredible  vigor ;  Miss  Belinda  sweetened  up  the  apple-sauce ; 
Martha  dusted  the  hot  plates ;  Bob  took  Tiny  Tim  beside  him 
in  a  tiny  corner  at  the  table ;  the  two  young  Cratchits  set  chairs 

1  The  goose  had  been  cooked  in  the  baker's  oven,  for  economy. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  131 

for  everybody,  not  forgetting  themselves,  and  mounting  guard 
upon  their  posts,  crammed  spoons  into  their  mouths,  lest  they 
should  shriek  for  goose  before  their  turn  came  to  be  helped. 
At  last  the  dishes  were  set  on,  and  grace  was  said.  It  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  breathless  pause,  as  Mrs.  Cratchit,  looking  slowly 
all  along  the  carving-knife,  prepared  to  plunge  it  in  the  breast ; 
but  when  she  did,  and  when  the  long-expected  gush  of  stuffing 
issued  forth,  one  murmur  of  delight  arose  all  round  the  board, 
and  even  Tiny  Tim,  excited  by  the  two  young  Cratchits,  beat 
on  the  table  with  the  handle  of  his  knife,  and  feebly  cried, 
Hurrah ! 

There  never  was  such  a  goose.  Bob  said  he  did  n't  believe 
there  ever  was  such  a  goose  cooked.  Its  tenderness  and  flavor, 
size  and  cheapness,  were  the  themes  of  universal  admiration. 
Eked  out  by  apple-sauce  and  mashed  potatoes,  it  was  a  suffi- 
cient dinner  for  the  whole  family ;  indeed,  as  Mrs.  Cratchit 
said  with  great  delight  (surveying  one  small  atom  of  a  bone 
upon  the  dish),  they  had  n't  ate  it  all  at  last !  Yet  every  one 
had  had  enough,  and  the  youngest  Cratchits  in  particular  were 
steeped  in  sage  and  onion  to  the  eyebrows  !  But  now,  the  plates 
being  changed  by  Miss  Belinda,  Mrs.  Cratchit  left  the  room 
alone,  —  too  nervous  to  bear  witnesses,  —  to  take  the  pudding 
up,  and  bring  it  in. 

Suppose  it  should  not  be  done  enough !  Suppose  it  should 
break  in  turning  out!  Suppose  somebody  should  have  got 
over  the  wall  of  the  back  yard,  and  stolen  it,  while  they  were 
merry  with  the  goose,  —  a  supposition  at  which  the  two  young 
Cratchits  became  livid !  All  sorts  of  horrors  were  supposed. 

Hallo!  A  great  deal  of  steam!  The  pudding  was  out  of 
the  copper.  A  smell  like  a  washing-day !  That  was  the  cloth. 
A  smell  like  an  eating-house  and  a  pastry-cook's  next  door  to 
each  other,  with  a  laundress's  next  door  to  that!  That  was 
the  pudding !  In  half  a  minute  Mrs.  Cratchit  entered,  — 


132  SHORT  STORIES 

flushed  but  smiling  proudly,  —  with  the  pudding,  like  a  speckled 
cannon-ball,  so  hard  and  firm,  blazing  in  half  of  half  a  quartern 
of  ignited  brandy,  and  bedight  with  Christmas  holly  stuck  into 
the  top. 

O,  a  wonderful  pudding!  Bob  Cratchit  said,  and  calmly, 
too,  that  he  regarded  it  as  the  greatest  success  achieved  by 
Mrs.  Cratchit  since  their  marriage.  Mrs.  Cratchit  said  that 
now  the  weight  was  off  her  mind,  she  would  confess  she  had 
had  her  doubts  about  the  quantity  of  flour.  Everybody  had 
something  to  say  about  it,  but  nobody  said  or  thought  it  was 
at  all  a  small  pudding  for  a  large  family.  Any  Cratchit  would 
have  blushed  to  hint  at  such  a  thing. 

At  last  the  dinner  was  all  done,  the  cloth  was  cleared,  the 
hearth  swept,  and  the  fire  made  up.  The  compound  in  the 
jug  being  tasted  and  considered  perfect,  apples  and  oranges 
were  put  upon  the  table,  and  a  shovelful  of  chestnuts  on 
the  fire. 

Then  all  the  Cratchit  family  drew  round  the  hearth,  in  what 
Bob  Cratchit  called  a  circle,  and  at  Bob  Cratchit's  elbow  stood 
the  family  display  of  glass,  —  two  tumblers,  and  a  custard-cup 
without  a  handle. 

These  held  the  hot  stuff  from  the  jug,  however,  as  well  as 
golden  goblets  would  have  done ;  and  Bob  served  it  out  with 
beaming  looks,  while  the  chestnuts  on  the  fire  sputtered  and 
crackled  noisily.  Then  Bob  proposed :  — 

"  A  Merry  Christmas  to  us  all,  my  dears.   God  bless  us  !  " 

Which  all  the  family  re-echoed. 

"  God  bless  us  every  one !  "  said  Tiny  Tim,  the  last  of  all. 

He  sat  very  close  to  his  father's  side,  upon  his  little  stool. 
Bob  held  his  withered  little  hand  in  his,  as  if  he  loved  the  child, 
and  wished  to  keep  him  by  his  side,  and  dreaded  that  he  might 
be  taken  from  him. 

Scrooge  raised  his  head  speedily,  on  hearing  his  own  name. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  133 

"  Mr.  Scrooge  1 "  said  Bob ;  "I  '11  give  you  Mr.  Scrooge,  the 
Founder  of  the  Feast  I  " 

M  The  Founder  of  the  Feast,  indeed  I "  cried  Mrs.  Cratchit, 
reddening.  "  I  wish  I  had  him  here.  I'd  give  him  a  piece  of 
my  mind  to  feast  upon,  and  I  hope  he  'd  have  a  good  appetite 
for  it." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Bob,  "  the  children !  Christmas  day." 

"  It  should  be  Christmas  day,  I  am  sure,"  said  she,  "  on 
which  one  drinks  the  health  of  such  an  odious,  stingy,  hard, 
unfeeling  man  as  Mr.  Scrooge.  You  know  he  is,  Robert !  No- 
body knows  it  better  than  you  do,  poor  fellow  1 " 

"  My  dear,"  was  Bob's  mild  answer,  "  Christmas  day." 

"  I  '11  drink  his  health  for  your  sake  and  the  day's,"  said 
Mrs.  Cratchit,  "  not  for  his.  Long  life  to  him.  A  merry  Christ- 
mas and  a  happy  New  Year !  He  '11  be  very  merry  and  very 
happy,  I  have  no  doubt  1 " 

The  children  drank  the  toast  after  her.  It  was  the  first  of 
their  proceedings  which  had  no  heartiness  in  it.  Tiny  Tim  drank 
it  last  of  all,  but  he  did  n't  care  twopence  for  it.  Scrooge  was 
the  Ogre  of  the  family.  The  mention  of  his  name  cast  a  dark 
shadow  on  the  party,  which  was  not  dispelled  for  full  five 
minutes. 

After  it  had  passed  away,  they  were  ten  times  merrier  than 
before,  from  the  mere  relief  of  Scrooge  the  Baleful  being  done 
with.  Bob  Cratchit  told  them  how  he  had  a  situation  in  his  eye 
for  Master  Peter,  which  would  bring  in,  if  obtained,  full  five  and 
sixpence  weekly.  The  two  young  Cratchits  laughed  tremen- 
dously at  the  idea  of  Peter's  being  a  man  of  business ;  and  Peter 
himself  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  fire  from  between  his  collars, 
as  if  he  were  deliberating  what  particular  investments  he  should 
favor  when  he  came  into  the  receipt  of  that  bewildering  income. 
Martha,  who  was  a  poor  apprentice  at  a  milliner's,  then  told 
them  what  kind  of  work  she  had  to  do,  and  how  many  hours 


134  SHORT  STORIES 

she  worked  at  a  stretch,  and  how  she  meant  to  lie  abed  to- 
morrow morning  for  a  good  long  rest ;  to-morrow  being  a  holi- 
day she  passed  at  home.  Also  how  she  had  seen  a  countess  and 
a  lord  some  days  before,  and  how  the  lord  "  was  much  about  as 
tall  as  Peter" ;  at  which  Peter  pulled  up  his  collars  so  high  that 
you  could  n't  have  seen  his  head  if  you  had  been  there.  All  this 
time  the  chestnuts  and  the  jug  went  round  and  round ;  and  by 
and  by  they  had  a  song,  about  a  lost  child  travelling  in  the  snow, 
from  Tiny  Tim,  who  had  a  plaintive  little  voice,  and  sang  it  very 
well  indeed. 

There  was  nothing  of  high  mark  in  this.  They  were  not  a 
handsome  family ;  they  were  not  well  dressed ;  their  shoes  were 
far  from  being  water-proof ;  their  clothes  were  scanty ;  and 
Peter  might  have  known,  and  very  likely  did,  the  inside  of  a 
pawnbroker's.  But  they  were  happy,  grateful,  pleased  with  one 
another,  and  contented  with  the  time;  and  when  they  faded, 
and  looked  happier  yet  in  the  bright  sprinklings  of  the  Spirit's 
torch  at  parting,  Scrooge  had  his  eye  upon  them,  and  especially 
on  Tiny  Tim,  until  the  last. 

It  was  a  great  surprise  to  Scrooge,  as  this  scene  vanished,  to 
hear  a  hearty  laugh.  It  was  a  much  greater  surprise  to  Scrooge 
to  recognize  it  as  his  own  nephew's,  and  to  find  himself  in  a 
bright,  dry,  gleaming  room,  with  the  Spirit  standing  smiling  by 
his  side,  and  looking  at  that  same  nephew. 

It  is  a  fair,  even-handed,  noble  adjustment  of  things,  that 
while  there  is  infection  in  disease  and  sorrow,  there  is  nothing 
in  the  world  so  irresistibly  contagious  as  laughter  and  good- 
humor.  When  Scrooge's  nephew  laughed,  Scrooge's  niece  by 
marriage  laughed  as  heartily  as  he.  And  their  assembled  friends, 
being  not  a  bit  behindhand,  laughed  out  lustily. 

"  He  said  that  Christmas  was  a  humbug,  as  I  live ! "  cried 
Scrooge's  nephew.  "  He  believed  it  too  1 " 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  135 

"More  shame  for  him,  Fred!"  said  Scrooge's  niece,  indig- 
nantly. Bless  those  women !  they  never  do  anything  by  halves. 
They  are  always  in  earnest. 

She  was  very  pretty,  exceedingly  pretty.  With  a  dimpled, 
surprised-looking,  capital  face ;  a  ripe  little  mouth  that  seemed 
made  to  be  kissed,  —  as  no  doubt  it  was ;  all  kinds  of  good 
little  dots  about  her  chin,  that  melted  into  one  another  when  she 
laughed ;  and  the  sunniest  pair  of  eyes  you  ever  saw  in  any  little 
creature's  head.  Altogether  she  was  what  you  would  have  called 
provoking,  but  satisfactory,  too.  O,  perfectly  satisfactory ! 

"  He 's  a  comical  old  fellow,"  said  Scrooge's  nephew,  "  that 's 
the  truth ;  and  not  so  pleasant  as  he  might  be.  However,  his 
offences  carry  their  own  punishment,  and  I  have  nothing  to  say 
against  him.  Who  suffers  by  his  ill  whims  ?  Himself,  always. 
Here  he  takes  it  into  his  head  to  dislike  us,  and  he  won't  come 
and  dine  with  us.  What's  the  consequence?  He  don't  lose 
much  of  a  dinner." 

"  Indeed,  I  think  he  loses  a  very  good  dinner,"  interrupted 
Scrooge's  niece.  Everybody  else  said  the  same,  and  they  must 
be  allowed  to  have  been  competent  judges,  because  they  had 
just  had  dinner;  and,  with  the  dessert  upon  the  table,  were 
clustered  round  the  fire,  by  lamplight. 

"  Well,  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Scrooge's  nephew, "  be- 
cause I  haven't  any  great  faith  in  these  young  housekeepers. 
What  do  you  say,  Topper  ? " 

Topper  dearly  had  his  eye  on  one  of  Scrooge's  niece's  sis- 
ters, for  he  answered  that  a  bachelor  was  a  wretched  outcast, 
who  had  no  right  to  express  an  opinion  on  the  subject.  Whereat 
Scrooge's  niece's  sister  —  the  plump  one  with  the  lace  tucker, 
not  the  one  with  the  roses  —  blushed. 

After  tea  they  had  some  music.  For  they  were  a  musical 
family,  and  knew  what  they  were  about,  when  they  sung  a  Glee 


136  SHORT  STORIES 

or  Catch,  I  can  assure  you,  —  especially  Topper,  who  could 
growl  away  in  the  bass  like  a  good  one,  and  never  swell  the 
large  veins  in  his  forehead,  or  get  red  in  the  face  over  it. 

But  they  did  n't  devote  the  whole  evening  to  music.  After  a 
while  they  played  at  forfeits ;  for  it  is  good  to  be  children  some- 
times, and  never  better  than  at  Christmas,  when  its  mighty 
Founder  was  a  child  himself.  There  was  first  a  game  at  blind- 
man's-buff,  though.  And  I  no  more  believe  Topper  was  really 
blinded  than  I  believe  he  had  eyes  in  his  boots.  Because  the 
way  in  which  he  went  after  that  plump  sister  in  the  lace  tucker 
was  an  outrage  on  the  credulity  of  human  nature.  Knocking 
down  the  fire-irons,  tumbling  over  the  chairs,  bumping  up 
against  the  piano,  smothering  himself  among  the  curtains, 
wherever  she  went  there  went  he !  He  always  knew  where 
the  plump  sister  was.  He  would  n't  catch  anybody  else.  If  you 
had  fallen  up  against  him,  as  some  of  them  did,  and  stood  there, 
he  would  have  made  a  feint  of  endeavoring  to  seize  you,  which 
would  have  been  an  affront  to  your  understanding,  and  would 
instantly  have  sidled  off  in  the  direction  of  the  plump  sister. 

"  Here  is  a  new  game,"  said  Scrooge.  "  One  half-hour,  Spirit, 
only  one ! " 

It  was  a  Game  called  Yes  and  No,  where  Scrooge's  nephew 
had  to  think  of  something,  and  the  rest  must  find  out  what ;  he 
only  answering  to  their  questions  yes  or  no,  as  the  case  was. 
The  fire  of  questioning  to  which  he  was  exposed  elicited  from 
him  that  he  was  thinking  of  an  animal,  a  live  animal,  rather  a 
disagreeable  animal,  a  savage  animal,  an  animal  that  growled 
and  grunted  sometimes,  and  talked  sometimes,  and  lived  in 
London,  and  walked  about  the  streets,  and  was  n't  made  a  show 
of,  and  was  n't  led  by  anybody,  and  did  n't  live  in  a  menagerie, 
and  was  never  killed  in  a  market,  and  was  not  a  horse,  or  an 
ass,  or  a  cow,  or  a  bull,  or  a  tiger,  or  a  dog,  or  a  pig,  or  a  cat, 
or  a  bear.  At  every  new  question  put  to  him,  this  nephew  burst 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  137 

into  a  fresh  roar  of  laughter ;  and  was  so  inexpressibly  tickled, 
that  he  was  obliged  to  get  up  off  the  sofa  and  stamp.  At  last 
the  plump  sister  cried  out, — 

"  I  have  found  it  out  1  I  know  what  it  is,  Fred  1  I  know 
what  it  is  1 " 

"  What  is  it  ? "  cried  Fred. 

"  It 's  your  uncle  Scro-o-o-o-oge !  " 

Which  it  certainly  was.  Admiration  was  the  universal  senti- 
ment, though  some  objected  that  the  reply  to  "  Is  it  a  bear  ? " 
ought  to  have  been  "  Yes." 

Uncle  Scrooge  had  imperceptibly  become  so  gay  and  light  of 
heart,  that  he  would  have  drunk  to  the  unconscious  company  in 
an  inaudible  speech.  But  the  whole  scene  passed  off  in  the 
breath  of  the  last  word  spoken  by  his  nephew ;  and  he  and  the 
Spirit  were  again  upon  their  travels. 

Much  they  saw,  and  far  they  went,  and  many  homes  they 
visited,  but  always  with  a  happy  end.  The  Spirit  stood  beside 
sick-beds,  and  they  were  cheerful ;  on  foreign  lands,  and  they 
were  close  at  home ;  by  struggling  men,  and  they  were  patient 
in  their  greater  hope ;  by  poverty,  and  it  was  rich.  In  alms- 
house,  hospital,  and  jail,  in  misery's  every  refuge,  where  vain 
man  in  his  little  brief  authority  had  not  made  fast  the  door,  and 
barred  the  Spirit  out,  he  left  his  blessing,  and  taught  Scrooge 
his  precepts.  Suddenly,  as  they  stood  together  in  an  open  place, 
the  bell  struck  twelve. 

Scrooge  looked  about  him  for  the  Ghost,  and  saw  it  no  more. 
As  the  last  stroke  ceased  to  vibrate,  he  remembered  the  predic- 
tion of  old  Jacob  Marley,  and,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  beheld  a  sol- 
emn Phantom,  draped  and  hooded,  coming  like  a  mist  along 
the  ground  towards  him. 


138  SHORT  STORIES 

STAVE  FOUR 
THE  LAST  OF  THE  SPIRITS 

The  Phantom  slowly,  gravely,  silently  approached.  When  it 
came  near  him,  Scrooge  bent  down  upon  his  knee ;  for  in  the 
air  through  which  this  Spirit  moved  it  seemed  to  scatter  gloom 
and  mystery. 

It  was  shrouded  in  a  deep  black  garment,  which  concealed 
its  head,  its  face,  its  form,  and  left  nothing  of  it  visible  save  one 
outstretched  hand.  He  knew  no  more,  for  the  Spirit  neither 
spoke  nor  moved. 

"  I  am  in  the  presence  of  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Yet  To 
Come  ?  Ghost  of  the  Future !  I  fear  you  more  than  any 
spectre  I  have  seen.  But  as  I  know  your  purpose  is  to  do 
me  good,  and  as  I  hope  to  live  to  be  another  man  from  what  I 
was,  I  am  prepared  to  bear  you  company,  and  do  it  with  a 
thankful  heart.  Will  you  not  speak  to  me  ? " 

It  gave  him  no  reply.  The  hand  was  pointed  straight  before 
them. 

"Lead  on  I  Lead  on!  The  night  is  waning  fast,  and  it  is 
precious  time  to  me,  I  know.  Lead  on,  Spirit ! " 

They  scarcely  seemed  to  enter  the  city ;  for  the  city  rather 
seemed  to  spring  up  about  them.  But  there  they  were  in  the 
heart  of  it ;  on  'Change,  amongst  the  merchants. 

The  Spirit  stopped  beside  one  little  knot  of  business  men. 
Observing  that  the  hand  was  pointed  to  them,  Scrooge  advanced 
to  listen  to  their  talk. 

"  No,"  said  a  great  fat  man  with  a  monstrous  chin,  "  I  don't 
know  much  about  it  either  way.  I  only  know  he 's  dead." 

"  When  did  he  die  ?  "  inquired  another. 

"  Last  night,  I  believe." 

' '  Why,  what  was  the  matter  with  him  ?  I  thought  he  'd  never  die. " 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  139 

"  God  knows,"  said  the  first,  with  a  yawn. 

"What  has  he  done  with  his  money?"  asked  a  red-faced 
gentleman. 

"  I  have  n't  heard,"  said  the  man  with  the  large  chin.  "  Com- 
pany, perhaps.  He  has  n't  left  it  to  me.  That 's  all  I  know. 
By,  by!" 

Scrooge  was  at  first  inclined  to  be  surprised  that  the  Spirit 
should  attach  importance  to  conversation  apparently  so  trivial ; 
but  feeling  assured  that  it  must  have  some  hidden  purpose,  he 
set  himself  to  consider  what  it  was  likely  to  be.  It  could  scarcely 
be  supposed  to  have  any  bearing  on  the  death  of  Jacob,  his  old 
partner,  for  that  was  Past,  and  this  Ghost's  province  was  the 
Future. 

He  looked  about  in  that  very  place  for  his  own  image ;  but 
another  man  stood  in  his  accustomed  corner,  and  though  the 
clock  pointed  to  his  usual  time  of  day  for  being  there,  he  saw 
no  likeness  of  himself  among  the  multitudes  that  poured  in 
through  the  Porch.  It  gave  him  little  surprise,  however ;  for  he 
had  been  revolving  in  his  mind  a  change  of  life,  and  he  thought 
and  hoped  he  saw  his  new-born  resolutions  carried  out  in  this. 

They  left  this  busy  scene,  and  went  into  an  obscure  part  of 
the  town,  to  a  low  shop  where  iron,  old  rags,  bottles,  bones, 
and  greasy  offal  were  bought.  A  gray-haired  rascal,  of  great 
age,  sat  smoking  his  pipe. 

Scrooge  and  the  Phantom  came  into  the  presence  of  this  man, 
just  as  a  woman  with  a  heavy  bundle  slunk  into  the  shop.  But 
she  had  scarcely  entered,  when  another  woman,  similarly  laden, 
came  in  too ;  and  she  was  closely  followed  by  a  man  in  faded 
black.  After  a  short  period  of  blank  astonishment,  in  which  the 
old  man  with  the  pipe  had  joined  them,  they  all  three  burst  into 
a  laugh. 

"  Let  the  charwoman  alone  to  be  the  first ! "  cried  she  who 
had  entered  first.  "  Let  the  laundress  alone  to  be  the  second ; 


140  SHORT  STORIES 

and  let  the  undertaker's  man  alone  to  be  the  third.  Look  here, 
old  Joe,  here 's  a  chance  1  If  we  have  n't  all  three  met  here 
without  meaning  it  1 " 

"  You  could  n't  have  met  in  better  place.  You  were  made 
free  of  it  long  ago,  you  know ;  and  the  other  two  ain't  strangers. 
What  have  you  got  to  sell  ?  What  have  you  got  to  sell  ? " 

"  Half  a  minute's  patience,  Joe,  and  you  shall  see." 

"What  odds  then!  What  odds,  Mrs.  Dilber?"  said  the 
woman.  "  Every  person  has  a  right  to  take  care  of  themselves. 
He  always  did !  Who  's  the  worse  for  the  loss  of  a  few  things 
like  these  ?  Not  a  dead  man,  I  suppose." 

Mrs.  Dilber,  whose  manner  was  remarkable  for  general 
propitiation,  said,  "  No,  indeed,  ma'am." 

"  If  he  wanted  to  keep  'em  after  he  was  dead,  a  wicked  old 
screw,  why  was  n't  he  natural  in  his  lifetime  ?  If  he  had  been, 
he  'd  have  had  somebody  to  look  after  him  when  he  was  struck 
with  Death,  instead  of  lying  gasping  out  his  last  there,  alone 
by  himself." 

"  It 's  the  truest  word  that  ever  was  spoke ;  it 's  a  judgment 
on  him." 

"  I  wish  it  was  a  little  heavier  judgment,  and  it  should  have 
been,  you  may  depend  upon  it,  if  I  could  have  laid  my  hands 
on  anything  else.  Open  that  bundle,  old  Joe,  and  let  me  know 
the  value  of  it.  Speak  out  plain.  I'm  not  afraid  to  be  the  first, 
nor  afraid  for  them  to  see  it." 

Joe  went  down  on  his  knees  for  the  greater  convenience  of 
opening  the  bundle,  and  dragged  out  a  large  and  heavy  roll  of 
some  dark  stuff. 

"  What  do  you  call  this  ?  Bed-curtains !  " 

"  Ah  1  Bed-curtains  1  Don't  drop  that  oil  upon  the  blankets, 
now." 

"  His  blankets  ? " 

"  Whose  else's,  do  you  think  ?   He  is  n't  likely  to  take  cold 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  141 

without  'em,  I  dare  say.  Ah !  You  may  look  through  that 
shirt  till  your  eyes  ache ;  but  you  won't  find  a  hole  in  it,  nor  a 
threadbare  place.  It  is  the  best  he  had,  and  a  fine  one  too. 
They  'd  have  wasted  it  by  dressing  him  up  in  it,  if  it  had  n't 
been  for  me." 

Scrooge  listened  to  this  dialogue  in  horror. 

"  Spirit  1  I  see,  I  see.  The  case  of  this  unhappy  man  might 
be  my  own.  My  life  tends  that  way  now.  Merciful  Heaven, 
what  is  this  ? " 

The  scene  had  changed,  and  now  he  almost  touched  a  bare, 
uncurtained  bed.  A  pale  light,  rising  in  the  outer  air,  fell  straight 
upon  this  bed ;  and  on  it,  unwatched,  unwept,  uncared  for,  was 
the  body  of  this  plundered  unknown  man. 

"  Spirit,  let  me  see  some  tenderness  connected  with  a  death, 
or  this  dark  chamber,  Spirit,  will  be  forever  present  to  me." 

The  Ghost  conducted  him  to  poor  Bob  Cratchit's  house, — 
the  dwelling  he  had  visited  before,  —  and  found  the  mother  and 
the  children  seated  round  the  fire. 

Quiet.  Very  quiet.  The  noisy  little  Cratchits  were  as  still  as 
statues  in  one  corner,  and  sat  looking  up  at  Peter,  who  had  a 
book  before  him.  The  mother  and  her  daughters  were  engaged 
in  needlework.  But  surely  they  were  very  quiet ! 

" '  And  he  took  a  child,  and  set  him  in  the  midst  of  them.' " 

Where  had  Scrooge  heard  those  words  ?  He  had  not  dreamed 
them.  The  boy  must  have  read  them  out,  as  he  and  the  Spirit 
crossed  the  threshold.  Why  did  he  not  go  on  ? 

The  mother  laid  her  work  upon  the  table,  and  put  her  hand 
up  to  her  face. 

"  The  color  hurts  my  eyes,"  she  said. 

The  color  ?   Ah,  poor  Tiny  Tim  ! 

"  They  're  better  now  again.  It  makes  them  weak  by  candle- 
light ;  and  I  would  n't  show  weak  eyes  to  your  father  when  he 
comes  home,  for  the  world.  It  must  be  near  his  time." 


I42  SHORT  STORIES 

"  Past  it,  rather,"  Peter  answered,  shutting  up  his  book. 
"  But  I  think  he  has  walked  a  little  slower  than  he  used,  these 
few  last  evenings,  mother." 

"  I  have  known  him  walk  with  —  I  have  known  him  walk 
with  Tiny  Tim  upon  his  shoulder,  very  fast  indeed." 

"  And  so  have  I,"  cried  Peter.    "  Often." 

"  And  so  have  I,"  exclaimed  another.    So  had  all. 

"  But  he  was  very  light  to  carry,  and  his  father  loved  him  so, 
that  it  was  no  trouble,  —  no  trouble.  And  there  is  your  father 
at  the  door !  " 

She  hurried  out  to  meet  him  ;  and  little  Bob  in  his  comforter 
—  he  had  need  of  it,  poor  fellow  —  came  in.  His  tea  was  ready 
for  him  on  the  hob,  and  they  all  tried  who  should  help  him  to 
.if  most.  Then  the  two  young  Cratchits  got  upon  his  knees  and 
laid,  each  child,  a  little  cheek  against  his  face,  as  if  they  said, 
-"-Don't. mind  it,  father.  Don't  be  grieved!  " 

Bob  was  very  cheerful  with  them,  and  spoke  pleasantly  to  all 
the  family.  He  looked  at  the  work  upon  the  table,  and  praised 
the  industry  and  speed  of  Mrs.  Cratchit  and  the  girls.  They 
would  be  done  long  before  Sunday,  he  said. 

"  Sunday !    You  went  to-day,  then,  Robert  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  returned  Bob.  "  I  wish  you  could  have 
gone.  It  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  how  green  a 
place  it  is.  But  you  '11  see  it  often.  I  promised  him  that  I 
would  walk  there  on  a  Sunday.  My  little,  little  child !  My  little 
child!"  \... 

...  He  broke  down  all  at  once.  He  could  n't  help  it,  If  he  could 
have  helped  it,  he  and  the  child  would  have  been  farther  apart, 
perhaps,  than  they  were. 

"  Spectre,"  said  Scrooge,  "  something  informs  me  that  our 
parting  moment  is  at  hand.  I  know  it,  but  I  know  not  how. 
Tell  me  what  man  that  was,  with  the  covered  face,  whom  we 
saw  lying  dead  ?  " 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  143 

The  Ghost  of  Christmas  Yet  To  Come  conveyed  him  to  a 
dismal,  wretched,  ruinous  churchyard. 

The  Spirit  stood  among  the  graves,  and  pointed  down  to  One. 

"  Before  I  draw  nearer  to  that  stone  to  which  you  point, 
answer  me  one  question.  Are  these  the  shadows  of  the  things 
that  Will  be,  or  are  they  shadows  of  the  things  that  May  be 
only  ? " 

Still  the  Ghost  pointed  downward  to  the  grave  by  which  it  stood. 

"  Men's  courses  will  foreshadow  certain  ends,  to  which,  if 
persevered  in,  they  must  lead.  But  if  the  courses  be  departed 
from,  the  ends  will  change.  Say  it  is  thus  with  what  you 
show  me ! " 

The  Spirit  was  immovable  as  ever. 

Scrooge  crept  towards  it,  trembling  as  he  went ;  and,  follow- 
ing the  finger,  read  upon  the  stone  of  the  neglected  grave  his 
own  name,  —  EBENEZER  SCROOGE. 

"  Am  /  that  man  who  lay  upon  the  bed  ?  No,  Spirit !  O  no, 
no  1  Spirit  1  hear  me !  I  am  not  the  man  I  was.  I  will  not  be  the 
man  I  must  have  been  but  for  this  intercourse.  Why  show  me 
this,  if  I  am  past  all  hope  ?  Assure  me  that  I  yet  may  change 
these  shadows  you  have  shown  me  by  an  altered  life." 

For  the  first  time  the  kind  hand  faltered. 

"  I  will  honor  Christmas  in  my  heart,  and  try  to  keep  it  all 
the  year.  I  will  live  in  the  Past,  the  Present,  and  the  Future. 
The  Spirits  of  all  three  shall  strive  within  me.  I  will  not  shut 
out  the  lessons  that  they  teach.  O,  tell  me  I  may  sponge  away 
the  writing  on  this  stone !  " 

Holding  up  his  hands  in  one  last  prayer  to  have  his  fate 
reversed,  he  saw  an  alteration  in  the  Phantom's  hood  and  dress. 
It  shrunk,  collapsed,  and  dwindled  down  into  a  bedpost. 

Yes,  and  the  bedpost  was  his  own.  The  bed  was  his  own, 
the  room  was  his  own.  Best  and  happiest  of  all,  the  Time  before 
him  was  his  own,  to  make  amends  in ! 


144  SHORT  STORIES 

He  was  checked  in  his  transports  by  the  churches  ringing  out 
the  lustiest  peals  he  had  ever  heard. 

Running  to  the  window,  he  opened  it,  and  put  out  his 
head.  No  fog,  no  mist,  no  night ;  clear,  bright,  stirring,  golden 
day! 

"  What 's  to-day  ? "  cried  Scrooge,  calling  downward  to  a 
boy  in  Sunday  clothes,  who  perhaps  had  loitered  in  to  look 
about  him. 

"  Eh  ? " 

"  What 's  to-day,  my  fine  fellow  ?  " 

"  To-day  !   Why,  CHRISTMAS  DAY." 

"  It 's  Christmas  day !  I  have  n't  missed  it.  Hallo,  my  fine 
fellow!" 

"Hallo!" 

"  Do  you  know  the  Poulterer's,  in  the  next  street  but  one,  at 
the  corner  ? " 

"  I  should  hope  I  did." 

"  An  intelligent  boy !  A  remarkable  boy !  Do  you  know 
whether  they  've  sold  the  prize  Turkey  that  was  hanging  up 
there  ?  Not  the  little  prize  Turkey,  —  the  big  one  ?  " 

"  What,  the  one  as  big  as  me  ? " 

"  What  a  delightful  boy  !  It 's  a  pleasure  to  talk  to  him.  Yes, 
my  buck ! " 

"  It 's  hanging  there  now." 

"  Is  it  ?    Go  and  buy  it." 

"  Walk-ER 1 1 "  exclaimed  the  boy. 

"  No,  no,  I  am  in  earnest.  Go  and  buy  it,  and  tell  'em  to 
bring  it  here,  that  I  may  give  them  the  direction  where  to  take 
it.  Come  back  with  the  man,  and  I  '11  give  you  a  shilling. 
Come  back  with  him  in  less  than  five  minutes,  and  I  '11  give 
you  half  a  crown !  " 

The  boy  was  off  like  a  shot. 
1  «  Walker !  "  or  «  Hookey  Walker  !  "  means  "  What  a  story  !  " 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  145 

"  I  '11  send  it  to  Bob  Cratchit's  !  He  sha'n't  know  who  sends 
it.  It's  twice  the  size  of  Tiny  Tim.  Joe  Miller  never  made 
such  a  joke  as  sending  it  to  Bob's  will  be !  " 

The  hand  in  which  he  wrote  the  address  was  not  a  steady 
one ;  but  write  it  he  did,  somehow,  and  went  down  stairs  to  open 
the  street  door,  ready  for  the  coming  of  the  poulterer's  man. 

It  was  a  Turkey  !  He  never  could  have  stood  upon  his  legs, 
that  bird.  He  would  have  snapped  'em  short  off  in  a  minute, 
like  sticks  of  sealing-wax. 

Scrooge  dressed  himself  "  all  in  his  best,"  and  at  last  got  out 
into  the  streets.  The  people  were  by  this  time  pouring  forth, 
as  he  had  seen  them  with  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present; 
and,  walking  with  his  hands  behind  him,  Scrooge  regarded 
every  one  with  a  delighted  smile.  He  looked  so  irresistibly 
pleasant,  in  a  word,  that  three  or  four  good-humored  fellows 
said :  "  Good  morning,  sir !  A  merry  Christmas  to  you  1 "  and 
Scrooge  said  often  afterwards,  that,  of  all  the  blithe  sounds  he 
had  ever  heard,  those  were  the  blithest  in  his  ears. 

In  the  afternoon,  he  turned  his  steps  towards  his  nephew's 
house. 

He  passed  the  door  a  dozen  times,  before  he  had  the  courage 
to  go  up  and  knock.  But  he  made  a  dash,  and  did  it. 

"  Is  your  master  at  home,  my  dear  ? "  said  Scrooge  to  the 
girl.  Nice  girl  1  Very. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Where  is  he,  my  love  ? " 

"  He  's  in  the  dining-room,  sir,  along  with  mistress." 

"  He  knows  me,"  said  Scrooge,  with  his  hand  already  on  the 
dining-room  lock.  "  I  '11  go  in  here,  my  dear." 

"  Fred ! " 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul !  "  cried  Fred,  "  who 's  that  ? " 

"  It 's  I.  Your  uncle  Scrooge.  I  have  come  to  dinner.  Will 
you  let  me  in,  Fred  ?  " 


I46  SHORT  STORIES 

Let  him  in !  It  is  a  mercy  he  did  n't  shake  his  arm  off.  He 
was  at  home  in  five  minutes.  Nothing  could  be  heartier.  His 
niece  looked  just  the  same.  So  did  Topper  when  he  came.  So 
did  the  plump  sister  when  she  came.  So  did  every  one  when 
they  came.  Wonderful  party,  wonderful  games,  wonderful 
unanimity,  won-der-ful  happiness ! 

But  he  was  early  at  the  office  next  morning.  O,  he  was  early 
there !  If  he  could  only  be  there  first,  and  catch  Bob  Cratchit 
coming  late !  That  was  the  thing  he  had  set  his  heart  upon. 

And  he  did  it.  The  clock  struck  nine.  No  Bob.  A  quarter 
past.  No  Bob.  Bob  was  full  eighteen  minutes  and  a  half  be- 
hind his  time.  Scrooge  sat  with  his  door  wide  open,  that  he 
might  see  him  come  into  the  Tank. 

Bob's  hat  was  off  before  he  opened  the  door ;  his  comforter 
too.  He  was  on  his  stool  in  a  jiffy  ;  driving  away  with  his  pen, 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  overtake  nine  o'clock. 

"  Hallo !  "  growled  Scrooge  in  his  accustomed  voice,  as  near 
as  he  could  feign  it.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  coming  here  at 
this  time  of  day  ? " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir.    I  am  behind  my  time." 

"You  are?  Yes.  I  think  you  are.  Step  this  way,  if  you 
please." 

"  It 's  only  once  a  year,  sir.  It  shall  not  be  repeated.  I  was 
making  rather  merry  yesterday,  sir." 

"  Now,  I  '11  tell  you  what,  my  friend.  I  am  not  going  to 
stand  this  sort  of  thing  any  longer.  And  therefore,"  Scrooge 
continued,  leaping  from  his  stool,  and  giving  Bob  such  a  dig  in 
the  waistcoat  that  he  staggered  back  into  the  Tank  again, — 
"  and  therefore  I  am  about  to  raise  your  salary  !  " 

Bob  trembled,  and  got  a  little  nearer  to  the  ruler. 

"  A  merry  Christmas,  Bob !  "  said  Scrooge,  with  an  earnest- 
ness that  could  not  be  mistaken,  as  he  clapped  him  on  the  back. 
"  A  merrier  Christmas,  Bob,  my  good  fellow,  than  I  have  given 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL  147 

you  for  many  a  year  1  I  '11  raise  your  salary,  and  endeavor  to 
assist  your  struggling  family,  and  we  will  discuss  your  affairs 
this  very  afternoon,  over  a  Christmas  bowl  of  smoking  bishop, 
Bob !  Make  up  the  fires,  and  buy  a  second  coal-scuttle  before 
you  dot  another  i,  Bob  Cratchit !  " 

Scrooge  was  better  than  his  word.  He  did  it  all,  and  infinitely 
more ;  and  to  Tiny  Tim,  who  did  NOT  die,  he  was  a  second 
father.  He  became  as  good  a  friend,  as  good  a  master,  and  as 
good  a  man  as  the  good  old  city  knew,  or  any  other  good  old 
city,  town,  or  borough  in  the  good  old  world.  Some  people 
laughed  to  see  the  alteration  in  him  ;  but  his  own  heart  laughed, 
and  that  was  quite  enough  for  him. 

He  had  no  further  intercourse  with  spirits,  but  lived  in  that 
respect  upon  the  total-abstinence  principle  ever  afterward ;  and 
it  was  always  said  of  him,  that  he  knew  how  to  keep  Christmas 
well,  if  any  man  alive  possessed  ^the  knowledge.  May  that  be 
truly  said  of  us,  and  all  of  us !  And  so,  as  Tiny  Tim  observed, 
God  bless  us  every  one  ! 


VI.  THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE1  (1850) 
BY  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE  (1804-1864) 

[Setting.  The  Profile  Mountain,  a  huge  "  work  of  Nature  in 
her  mood  of  majestic  playfulness,"  seems  to  have  given  the 
suggestion.  The  Profile  Mountain  is  a  part  of  Cannon  Moun- 
tain, which  is  one  of  the  White  Mountains  of  New  Hampshire. 
But  the  larger  background  is  to  be  sought  in  the  interplay  of 
the  spiritual  and  physical  forces  which  Hawthorne  has  here 
staged  in  allegory.  The  mountain  is  the  symbol  of  a  lofty  ideal 
that  blesses  those  that  follow  its  beckoning  and  marks  the 
degree  of  failure  of  those  that  slight  or  ignore  it. 

Plot.  The  plan  of  the  story  is  as  simple  and  beautiful  as  the 
teaching  is  profound  and  helpful.  "  Mr.  Hawthorne,"  writes 
Mrs.  Hawthorne,  "  says  he  is  rather  ashamed  of  the  mechanical 
structure  of  the  story,  the  moral  being  so  plain  and  manifest." 
But  what  is  the  "  plain  and  manifest "  moral  that  the  structure 
of  the  story  is  designed  to  bring  out?  One  interpreter  says, 
"  That  the  last  shall  be  first "  ;  another,  "  That  success  is  not 
to  be  measured  by  human  standards."  The  central  thought 
seems  to  me  to  be  larger  than  either  of  these  and  to  include 
both.  It  is  rather  the  assimilative  power  of  a  lofty  ideal  and  is 
best  phrased  in  2  Corinthians  iii,  18 :  "  But  we  all,  with  open 
face  beholding  as  in  a  glass  the  glory  of  the  Lord,  are  changed 
into  the  same  image  from  glory  to  glory."  By  setting  his  ideal 
high  and  by  looking  and  longing,  Ernest  grew  daily  in  spiritual 
stature  and  was  saved  from  being  the  victim  of  the  popular  and 

1  From  "  The  Snow  Image,  and  Other  Twice-Told  Tales."  Used  by 
permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton  Mifflin 
Company,  publishers  of  Hawthorne's  Works. 

148 


THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE         149 

passing  allurements  of  war,  money,  and  politics,  allurements  to 
which  his  neighbors  succumbed  because  they  did  not  live  in 
vital  communion  with  the  Great  Stone  Face.  The  poet,  it  is 
true,  felt  the  appeal  of  the  Great  Stone  Face  but  only  afar  off, 
for  his  life  did  not  correspond  with  his  thought.  It  is  one  of 
the  finest  touches  in  the  story  that,  though  Ernest  meets  the 
double  requirement  of  thought  and  act,  he  still  hoped  "that 
some  wiser  and  better  man  than  himself  would  by  and  by  ap- 
pear." If  a  man  once  catches  up  with  his  ideal,  it  ceases  to  be 
an  ideal.  Ernest  did  not  think  that  he  had  attained. 

Characters.  Ernest,  like  Scrooge,  is  a  developing  character. 
He  did  not  have  as  far  to  go  as  Scrooge  and  his  development 
was  differently  wrought;  but  both  passed  from  weakness  to 
strength  and  from  isolation  to  service,  the  one  through  the 
ministry  of  a  single  profound  experience,  the  other  through 
the  constant  challenge  of  a  high  ideal.  The  other  characters 
fall  below  Ernest  because  they  did  not  relate  themselves  as 
whole-heartedly  to  the  influence  of  the  Great  Stone  Face. 
Mr.  Gathergold,  type  of  the  merely  rich  man,  Old  Blood-and- 
Thunder,  type  of  the  merely  military  hero,  Old  Stony  Phiz, 
type  of  the  merely  eloquent  statesman,  the  easily  satisfied 
people,  type  of  the  fickle  crowd,  and  at  last  the  gifted  poet, 
type  of  the  discord  between  words  and  works,  all  were  natives 
of  the  same  valley  of  opportunity.  But  the  Great  Stone  Face 
was  the  measure  of  their  defect  rather  than  the  means  of  their 
attainment  because,  unlike  Esther  and  Scrooge  and  Ernest, 
they  were  "  disobedient  unto  the  heavenly  vision."] 


One  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was  going  down,  a  mother 
and  her  little  boy  sat  at  the  door  of  their  cottage,  talking  about 
the  Great  Stone  Face.  They  had  but  to  lift  their  eyes,  and 
there  it  was  plainly  to  be  seen,  though  miles  away,  with  the 
sunshine  brightening  all  its  features. 

And  what  was  the  Great  Stone  Face  ? 


150  SHORT  STORIES 

Embosomed  amongst  a  family  of  lofty  mountains,  there  was 
a  valley  so  spacious  that  it  contained  many  thousand  inhabit- 
ants. Some  of  these  good  people  dwelt  in  log  huts,  with  the 
black  forest  all  around  them,  on  the  steep  and  difficult  hill- 
sides. Others  had  their  homes  in  comfortable  farm-houses, 
and  cultivated  the  rich  soil  on  the  gentle  slopes  or  level  sur- 
faces of  the  valley.  Others,  again,  were  congregated  into 
populous  villages,  where  some  wild,  highland  rivulet,  tumbling 
down  from  its  birthplace  in  the  upper  mountain  region,  had 
been  caught  and  tamed  by  human  cunning,  and  compelled  to 
turn  the  machinery  of  cotton-factories.  The  inhabitants  of 
this  valley,  in  short,  were  numerous,  and  of  many  modes  of  life. 
But  all  of  them,  grown  people  and  children,  had  a  kind  of 
familiarity  with  the  Great  Stone  Face,  although  some  possessed 
the  gift«of  distinguishing  this  grand  natural  phenomenon  more 
perfectly  than  many  of  their  neighbors. 

The  Great  Stone  Face,  then,  was  a  work  of  Nature  in  her 
mood  of  majestic  playfulness,  formed  on  the  perpendicular 
side  of  the  mountain  by  some  immense  rocks,  which  had  been 
thrown  together  in  such  a  position  as,  when  viewed  at  a  proper 
distance,  precisely  to  resemble  the  features  of  the  human  coun- 
tenance. It  seemed  as  if  an  enormous  giant,  or  a  Titan,  had 
sculptured  his  own  likeness  on  the  precipice.  There  was  the 
broad  arch  of  the  forehead,  a  hundred  feet  in  height ;  the  nose, 
with  its  long  bridge ;  and  the  vast  lips,  which,  if  they  could 
have  spoken,  would  have  rolled  their  thunder  accents  from  one 
end  of  the  valley  to  the  other.  True  it  is,  that  if  the  spectator 
approached  too  near,  he  lost  the  outline  of  the  gigantic  visage, 
and  could  discern  only  a  heap  of  ponderous  and  gigantic  rocks, 
piled  in  chaotic  ruin  one  upon  another.  Retracing  his  steps, 
however,  the  wondrous  features  would  again  be  seen ;  and  the 
farther  he  withdrew  from  them,  the  more  like  a  human  face, 
with  all  its  original  divinity  intact,  did  they  appear ;  until,  as  it 


THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE  151 

grew  dim  in  the  distance,  with  the  clouds  and  glorified  vapor 
of  the  mountains  clustering  about  it,  the  Great  Stone  Face 
seemed  positively  to  be  alive. 

It  was  a  happy  lot  for  children  to  grow  up  to  manhood  or 
womanhood  with  the  Great  Stone  Face  before  their  eyes,  for 
all  the  features  were  noble,  and  the  expression  was  at  once 
grand  and  sweet,  as  if  it  were  the  glow  of  a  vast,  warm  heart, 
that  embraced  all  mankind  in  its  affections,  and  had  room  for 
more.  It  was  an  education  only  to  look  at  it.  According  to 
the  belief  of  many  people,  the  valley  owed  much  of  its  fertility 
to  this  benign  aspect  that  was  continually  beaming  over  it, 
illuminating  the  clouds,  and  infusing  its  tenderness  into  the 
sunshine. 

As  we  began  with  saying,  a  mother  and  her  little  boy  sat 
at  their  cottage-door,  gazing  at  the  Great  Stone  Face,  and 
talking  about  it.  The  child's  name  was  Ernest 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  while  the  Titanic  visage  smiled  on  him, 
"  I  wish  that  it  could  speak,  for  it  looks  so  very  kindly  that  its 
voice  must  needs  be  pleasant.  If  I  were  to  see  a  man  with 
such  a  face,  I  should  love  him  dearly." 

"  If  an  old  prophecy  should  come  to  pass,"  answered  his 
mother,  "  we  may  see  a  man,  some  time  or  other,  with  exactly 
such  a  face  as  that." 

"  What  prophecy  do  you  mean,  dear  mother  ? "  eagerly 
inquired  Ernest.  "  Pray  tell  me  all  about  it ! " 

So  his  mother  told  him  a  story  that  her  own  mother  had 
told  to  her,  when  she  herself  was  younger  than  little  Ernest ; 
a  story,  not  of  things  that  Were  past,  but  of  what  was  yet  to 
come ;  a  story,  nevertheless,  so  very  old  that  even  the  Indians, 
who  formerly  inhabited  this  valley,  had  heard  it  from  their 
forefathers,  to  whom,  as  they  affirmed,  it  had  been  murmured 
by  the  mountain  streams,  and  whispered  by  the  wind  among 
the  treetops.  The  purport  was,  that,  at  some  future  day,  a 


152  SHORT  STORIES 

child  should  be  born  hereabouts,  who  was  destined  to  become 
the  greatest  and  noblest  personage  of  his  time,  and  whose 
countenance,  in  manhood,  should  bear  an  exact  resemblance 
to  the  Great  Stone  Face.  Not  a  few  old-fashioned  people,  and 
young  ones  likewise,  in  the  ardor  of  their  hopes,  still  cherished 
an  enduring  faith  in  this  old  prophecy.  But  others,  who  had 
seen  more  of  the  world,  had  watched  and  waited  till  they  were 
weary,  and  had  beheld  no  man  with  such  a  face,  nor  any  man 
that  proved  to  be  much  greater  or  nobler  than  his  neighbors, 
concluded  it  to  be  nothing  but  an  idle  tale.  At  all  events,  the 
great  man  of  the  prophecy  had  not  yet  appeared. 

"  O  mother,  dear  mother  1 "  cried  Ernest,  clapping  his  hands 
above  his  head,  "  I  do  hope  that  I  shall  live  to  see  him  ? " 

His  mother  was  an  affectionate  and  thoughtful  woman,  and 
felt  that  it  was  wisest  not  to  discourage  the  generous  hopes  of 
her  little  boy.  So  she  only  said  to  him,  "  Perhaps  you  may." 

And  Ernest  never  forgot  the  story  that  his  mother  told  him. 
It  was  always  in  his  mind,  whenever  he  looked  upon  the  Great 
Stone  Face.  He  spent  his  childhood  in  the  log-cottage  where 
he  was  born,  and  was  dutiful  to  his  mother,  and  helpful  to  her 
in  many  things,  assisting  her  much  with  his  little  hands,  and 
more  with  his  loving  heart.  In  this  manner,  from  a  happy  yet 
often  pensive  child,  he  grew  up  to  be  a  mild,  quiet,  unobtrusive 
boy,  and  sunbrowned  with  labor  in  the  fields,  but  with  more 
intelligence  brightening  his  aspect  than  is  seen  in  many  lads 
who  have  been  taught  at  famous  schools.  Yet  Ernest  had  had 
no  teacher,  save  only  that  the  Great  Stone  Face  became  one  to 
him.  When  the  toil  of  the  day  was  over,  he  would  gaze  at  it 
for  hours,  until  he  began  to  imagine  that  those  vast  features 
recognized  him,  and  gave  him  a  smile  of  kindness  and  encour- 
agement, responsive  to  his  own  look  of  veneration.  We  must 
not  take  upon  us  to  affirm  that  this  was  a  mistake,  although 
the  Face  may  have  looked  no  more  kindly  at  Ernest  than  at  all 


THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE         153 

the  world  besides.  But  the  secret  was,  that  the  boy's  tender 
and  confiding  simplicity  discerned  what  other  people  could  not 
see;  and  thus  the  love,  which  was  meant  for  all,  became  his 
peculiar  portion. 

About  this  time,  there  went  a  rumor  throughout  the  valley, 
that  the  great  man,  foretold  from  ages  long  ago,  who  was  to 
bear  a  resemblance  to  the  Great  Stone  Face,  had  appeared  at 
last.  It  seems  that,  many  years  before,  a  young  man  had 
migrated  from  the  valley  and  settled  at  a  distant  seaport,  where, 
after  getting  together  a  little  money,  he  had  set  up  as  a  shop- 
keeper. His  name  —  but  I  could  never  learn  whether  it  was 
his  real  one,  or  a  nickname  that  had  grown  out  of  his  habits 
and  success  in  life  —  was  Gathergold.  Being  shrewd  and 
active,  and  endowed  by  Providence  with  that  inscrutable  fac- 
ulty which  develops  itself  in  what  the  world  calls  luck,  he 
became  an  exceedingly  rich  merchant,  and  owner  of  a  whole 
fleet  of  bulky-bottomed  ships.  All  the  countries  of  the  globe 
appeared  to  join  hands  for  the  mere  purpose  of  adding  heap 
after  heap  to  the  mountainous  accumulation  of  this  one  man's 
wealth.  The  cold  regions  of  the  north,  almost  within  the  gloom 
and  shadow  of  the  Arctic  Circle,  sent  him  their  tribute  in  the 
shape  of  furs;  hot  Africa  sifted  for  him  the  golden  sands 
of  her  rivers,  and  gathered  up  the  ivory  tusks  of  her  great 
elephants  out  of  the  forests ;  the  East  came  bringing  him  the 
rich  shawls,  and  spices,  and  teas,  and  the  effulgence  of  dia- 
monds, and  the  gleaming  purity  of  large  pearls.  The  ocean,  not 
to  be  behindhand  with  the  earth,  yielded  up  her  mighty  whales, 
that  Mr.  Gathergold  might  sell  their  oil,  and  make  a  profit  on 
it.  Be  the  original  commodity  what  it  might,  it  was  gold  within 
his  grasp.  It  might  be  said  of  him,  as  of  Midas  in  the  fable, 
that  whatever  he  touched  with  his  finger  immediately  glistened, 
and  grew  yellow,  and  was  changed  at  once  into  sterling  metal, 
or,  which  suited  him  still  better,  into  piles  of  coin.  And,  when 


154  SHORT  STORIES 

Mr.  Gathergold  had  become  so  very  rich  that  it  would  have 
taken  him  a  hundred  years  only  to  count  his  wealth,  he  be- 
thought himself  of  his  native  valley,  and  resolved  to  go  back 
thither,  and  end  his  days  where  he  was  born.  With  this 
purpose  in  view,  he  sent  a  skilful  architect  to  build  him 
such  a  palace  as  should  be  fit  for  a  man  of  his  vast  wealth 
to  live  in. 

As  I  have  said  above,  it  had  already  been  rumored  in  the 
valley  that  Mr.  Gathergold  had  turned  out  to  be  the  prophetic 
personage  so  long  and  vainly  looked  for,  and  that  his  visage 
was  the  perfect  and  undeniable  similitude  of  the  Great  Stone 
Face.  People  were  the  more  ready  to  believe  that  this  must 
needs  be  the  fact,  when  they  beheld  the  splendid  edifice  that 
rose,  as  if  by  enchantment,  on  the  site  of  his  father's  old 
weather-beaten  farm-house.  The  exterior  was  of  marble,  so 
dazzlingly  white  that  it  seemed  as  though  the  whole  structure 
might  melt  away  in  the  sunshine,  like  those  humbler  ones 
which  Mr.  Gathergold,  in  his  young  play-days,  before  his  fingers 
were  gifted  with  the  touch  of  transmutation,  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  build  of  snow.  It  had  a  richly  ornamented  portico, 
supported  by  tall  pillars,  beneath  which  was  a  lofty  door, 
studded  with  silver  knobs,  and  made  of  a  kind  of  variegated 
wood  that  had  been  brought  from  beyond  the  sea.  The  win- 
dows, from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling  of  each  stately  apartment, 
were  composed,  respectively,  of  but  one  enormous  pane  of 
glass,  so  transparently  pure  that  it  was  said  to  be  a  finer 
medium  than  even  the  vacant  atmosphere.  Hardly  anybody 
had  been  permitted  to  see  the  interior  of  this  palace ;  but  it 
was  reported,  and  with  good  semblance  of  truth,  to  be  far 
more  gorgeous  than  the  outside,  insomuch  that  whatever  was 
iron  or  brass  in  other  houses  was  silver  or  gold  in  this ;  and 
Mr.  Gathergold 's  bedchamber,  especially,  made  such  a  glitter- 
ing appearance  that  no  ordinary  man  would  have  been  able  to 


THE  GREAT  STONE   FACE  155 

close  his  eyes  there.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Gathergold 
was  now  so  inured  to  wealth,  that  perhaps  he  could  not  have 
closed  his  eyes  unless  where  the  gleam  of  it  was  certain  to 
find  its  way  beneath  his  eyelids. 

In  due  time,  the  mansion  was  finished ;  next  came  the  uphol- 
sterers with  magnificent  furniture ;  then,  a  whole  troop  of  black 
and  white  servants,  the  harbingers  of  Mr.  Gathergold,  who,  in 
his  own  majestic  person,  was  expected  to  arrive  at  sunset.  Our 
friend  Ernest,  meanwhile,  had  been  deeply  stirred  by  the  idea 
that  the  great  man,  the  noble  man,  the  man  of  prophecy,  after 
so  many  ages  of  delay,  was  at  length  to  be  made  manifest  to 
his  native  valley.  He  knew,  boy  as  he  was,  that  there  were 
a  thousand  ways  in  which  Mr.  Gathergold,  with  his  vast  wealth, 
might  transform  himself  into  an  angel  of  beneficence,  and 
assume  a  control  over  human  affairs  as  wide  and  benignant  as 
the  smile  of  the  Great  Stone  Face.  Full  of  faith  and  hope, 
Ernest  doubted  not  that  what  the  people  said  was  true,  and 
that  now  he  was  to  behold  the  living  likeness  of  those  wondrous 
features  on  the  mountain-side.  While  the  boy  was  still  gazing 
up  the  valley,  and  fancying,  as  he  always  did,  that  the  Great 
Stone  Face  returned  his  gaze  and  looked  kindly  at  him,  the 
rumbling  of  wheels  was  heard,  approaching  swiftly  along  the 
winding  road. 

"  Here  he  comes  I "  cried  a  group  of  people  who  were 
assembled  to  witness  the  arrival.  "  Here  comes  the  great 
Mr.  Gathergold ! " 

A  carriage,  drawn  by  four  horses,  dashed  round  the  turn  of 
the  road.  Within  it,  thrust  partly  out  of  the  window,  appeared 
the  physiognomy  of  a  little  old  man,  with  a  skin  as  yellow  as  if 
his  own  Midas-hand  had  transmuted  it.  He  had  a  low  forehead, 
small,  sharp  eyes,  puckered  about  with  innumerable  wrinkles, 
and  very  thin  lips,  which  he  made  still  thinner  by  pressing  them 
forcibly  together. 


156  SHORT  STORIES 

"  The  very  image  of  the  Great  Stone  Face ! "  shouted  the 
people.  "  Sure  enough,  the  old  prophecy  is  true  ;  and  here  we 
have  the  great  man  come,  at  last !  " 

And,  what  greatly  perplexed  Ernest,  they  seemed  actually  to 
believe  that  here  was  the  likeness  which  they  spoke  of.  By  the 
roadside  there  chanced  to  be  an  old  beggar-woman  and  two 
little  beggar-children,  stragglers  from  some  far-off  region,  who, 
as  the  carriage  rolled  onward,  held  out  their  hands  and  lifted 
up  their  doleful  voices,  most  piteously  beseeching  charity.  A 
yellow  claw  —  the  very  same  that  had  clawed  together  so  much 
wealth  —  poked  itself  out  of  the  coach-window,  and  dropt  some 
copper  coins  upon  the  ground ;  so  that,  though  the  great  man's 
name  seems  to  have  been  Gathergold,  he  might  just  as  suitably 
have  been  nicknamed  Scattercopper.  Still,  nevertheless,  with 
an  earnest  shout,  and  evidently  with  as  much  good  faith  as  ever, 
the  people  bellowed,  — 

"  He  is  the  very  image  of  the  Great  Stone  Face ! " 
But  Ernest  turned  sadly  from  the  wrinkled  shrewdness  of 
that  sordid  visage,  and  gazed  up  the  valley,  where,  amid  a 
gathering  mist,  gilded  by  the  last  sunbeams,  he  could  still  dis- 
tinguish those  glorious  features  which  had  impressed  them- 
selves into  his  soul.  Their  aspect  cheered  him.  What  did  the 
benign  lips  seem  to  say? 

"  He  will  come !  Fear  not,  Ernest ;  the  man  will  come !  " 
The  years  went  on,  and  Ernest  ceased  to  be  a  boy.  He  had 
grown  to  be  a  young  man  now.  He  attracted  little  notice  from 
the  other  inhabitants  of  the  valley;  for  they  saw  nothing 
remarkable  in  his  way  of  life,  save  that,  when  the  labor  of  the 
day  was  over,  he  still  loved  to  go  apart  and  gaze  and  meditate 
upon  the  Great  Stone  Face.  According  to  their  idea  of  the 
matter,  it  was  a  folly,  indeed,  but  pardonable,  inasmuch  as 
Ernest  was  industrious,  kind,  and  neighborly,  and  neglected  no 
duty  for  the  sake  of  indulging  this  idle  habit.  They  knew  not 


THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE  157 

that  the  Great  Stone  Face  had  become  a  teacher  to  him,  and 
that  the  sentiment  which  was  expressed  in  it  would  enlarge 
the  young  man's  heart,  and  fill  it  with  wider  and  deeper  sym- 
pathies than  other  hearts.  They  knew  not  that  thence  would 
come  a  better  wisdom  than  could  be  learned  from  books,  and 
a  better  life  than  could  be  moulded  on  the  defaced  example  of 
other  human  lives.  Neither  did  Ernest  know  that  the  thoughts 
and  affections  which  came  to  him  so  naturally,  in  the  fields  and 
at  the  fireside,  and  wherever  he  communed  with  himself,  were 
of  a  higher  tone  'than  those  which  all  men  shared  with  him. 
A  simple  soul,  —  simple  as  when  his  mother  first  taught  him 
the  old  prophecy,  —  he  beheld  the  marvellous  features  beaming 
adown  the  valley,  and  still  wondered  that  their  human  counter- 
part was  so  long  in  making  his  appearance. 

By  this  time  poor  Mr.  Gathergold  was  dead  and  buried ;  and 
the  oddest  part  of  the  matter  was,  that  his  wealth,  which  was 
the  body  and  spirit  of  his  existence,  had  disappeared  before 
his  death,  leaving  nothing  of  him  but  a  living  skeleton,  covered 
over  with  a  wrinkled,  yellow  skin.  Since  the  melting  away  of 
his  gold,  it  had  been  very  generally  conceded  that  there  was 
no  such  striking  resemblance,  after  all,  betwixt  the  ignoble 
features  of  the  ruined  merchant  and  that  majestic  face  upon 
the  mountain-side.  So  the  people  ceased  to  honor  him  during 
his  lifetime,  and  quietly  consigned  him  to  forgetfulness  after 
his  decease.  Once  in  a  while,  it  is  true,  his  memory  was  brought 
up  in  connection  with  the  magnificent  palace  which  he  had  built, 
and  which  had  long  ago  been  turned  into  a  hotel  for  the  accom- 
modation of  strangers,  multitudes  of  whom  came,  every  summer, 
to  visit  that  famous  natural  curiosity,  the  Great  Stone  Face. 
Thus,  Mr.  Gathergold  being  discredited  and  thrown  into  the 
shade,  the  man  of  prophecy  was  yet  to  come. 

It  so  happened  that  a  native-born  son  of  the  valley,  many 
years  before,  had  enlisted  as  a  soldier,  and,  after  a  great  deal 


158  SHORT  STORIES 

of  hard  fighting,  had  now  become  an  illustrious  commander. 
Whatever  he  may  be  called  in  history,  he  was  known  in  camps 
and  on  the  battle-field  under  the  nickname  of  Old  Blood-and- 
Thunder.  This  war-worn  veteran,  being  now  infirm  with  age 
and  wounds,  and  weary  of  the  turmoil  of  a  military  life,  and  of 
the  roll  of  the  drum  and  the  clangor  of  the  trumpet,  that  had 
so  long  been  ringing  in  his  ears,  had  lately  signified  a  purpose 
of  returning  to  his  native  valley,  hoping  to  find  repose  where 
he  remembered  to  have  left  it.  The  inhabitants,  his  old  neigh- 
bors and  their  grown-up  children,  were  resolved  to  welcome  the 
renowned  warrior  with  a  salute  of  cannon  and  a  public  dinner ; 
and  all  the  more  enthusiastically,  it  being  affirmed  that  now,  at 
last,  the  likeness  of  the  Great  Stone  Face  had  actually  appeared. 
An  aid-de-camp  of  Old  Blood-and-Thunder,  travelling  through 
the  valley,  was  said  to  have  been  struck  with  the  resemblance. 
Moreover  the  schoolmates  and  early  acquaintances  of  the  general 
were  ready  to  testify,  on  oath,  that,  to  the  best  of  their  recollec- 
tion, the  aforesaid  general  had  been  exceedingly  like  the  majestic 
image,  even  when  a  boy,  only  that  the  idea  had  never  occurred 
to  them  at  that  period.  Great,  therefore,  was  the  excitement 
throughout  the  valley ;  and  many  people,  who  had  never  once 
thought  of  glancing  at  the  Great  Stone  Face  for  years  before, 
now  spent  their  time  in  gazing  at  it  for  the  sake  of  knowing 
exactly  how  General  Blood-and-Thunder  looked. 

Oil  the  day  of  the  great  festival,  Ernest,  with  all  the  other 
people  of  the  valley,  left. their  work,  and  proceeded  to  the  spot 
where  the  sylvan  banquet 'was  prepared.  As  he  approached, 
the  loud  voice  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  -Battleblast  was  heard,  beseeching 
a  blessing  on  the  good  things  set  before  them,  and  on  the  dis- 
tinguished friend  of  peace  in  whose  honor  they  were  assembled. 
The  tables  were  arranged  in  a  cleared  space  of  the  woods,  shut 
in  by  the  surrounding  trees,  except  where  a  vista  opened  east- 
ward, and  afforded  a  distant  view  of  the  Great  Stone  Face. 


THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE  159 

Over  the  general's  chair,  which  was  a  relic  from  the  home  of 
Washington,  there  was  an  arch  of  verdant  boughs,  with  the 
laurel  profusely  intermixed,  and  surmounted  by  his  country's 
banner,  beneath  which  he  had  won  his  victories.  Our  friend 
Ernest  raised  himself  on  his  tiptoes,  in  hopes  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  celebrated  guest;  but  there  was  a  mighty  crowd  about 
the  tables  anxious  to  hear  the  toasts  and  speeches,  and  to  catch 
any  word  that  might  fall  from  the  general  in  reply ;  and  a  volun- 
teer company,  doing  duty  as  a  guard,  pricked  ruthlessly  with 
their  bayonets  at  any  particularly  quiet  person  among  the  throng. 
So  Ernest,  being  of  an  unobtrusive  character,  was  thrust  quite 
into  the  background,  where  he  could  see  no  more  of  Old  Blood- 
and-Thunder's  physiognomy  than  if  it  had  been  still  blazing  on 
the  battle-field.  To  console  himself,  he  turned  towards  the 
Great  Stone  Face,  which,  like  a  faithful  and  long-remembered 
friend,  looked  back  and  smiled  upon  him  through  the  vista  of 
the  forest.  Meantime,  however,  he  could  overhear  the  remarks 
of  various  individuals,  who  were  comparing  the  features  of  the 
hero  with  the  face  on  the  distant  mountain-side. 

*  'T  is  the  same  face,  to  a  hair  1 "  cried  one  man,  cutting 
a  caper  for  joy. 

"  Wonderfully  like,  that 's  a  fact ! "   responded  another. 

"Like!  why,  I  call  it  Old  Blood-and-Thunder  himself,  in 
a  monstrous  looking-glass !  "  cried  a  third.  "  And  why  not  ? 
He 's  the  greatest  man  of  this  or  any  other  age,  beyond 
a  doubt." 

And  then  all  three  of  the  speakers  gave  a  great  shout,  which 
communicated  electricity  to  the  crowd,  and  called  forth  a  roar 
from  a  thousand  voices,  that  went  reverberating  for  miles 
among  the  mountains,  until  you  might  have  supposed  that  the 
Great  Stone  Face  had  poured  its  thunder-breath  into  the  cry. 
All  these  comments,  and  this  vast  enthusiasm  served  the  more 
to  interest  our  friend ;  nor  did  he  think  of  questioning  that  now, 


160  SHORT  STORIES 

at  length,  the  mountain-visage  had  found  its  human  counterpart. 
It  is  true,  Ernest  had  imagined  that  this  long-looked-for  person- 
age would  appear  in  the  character  of  a  man  of  peace,  uttering 
wisdom,  and  doing  good,  and  making  people  happy.  But,  taking 
an  habitual  breadth  of  view,  with  all  his  simplicity,  he  contended 
that  Providence  should  choose  its  own  method  of  blessing  man- 
kind, and  could  conceive  that  this  great  end  might  be  effected 
even  by  a  warrior  and  a  bloody  sword,  should  inscrutable 
wisdom  see  fit  to  order  matters  so. 

"  The  general !  the  general !  "  was  now  the  cry.  "  Hush  ! 
silence!  Old  Blood-and-Thunder 's  going  to  make  a  speech." 

Even  so ;  for,  the  cloth  being  removed,  the  general's  health 
had  been  drunk  amid  shouts  of  applause,  and  he  now  stood 
upon  his  feet  to  thank  the  company.  Ernest  saw  him.  There 
he  was,  over  the  shoulders  of  the  crowd,  from  the  two  glittering 
epaulets  and  embroidered  collar  upward,  beneath  the  arch  of 
green  boughs  with  interwined  laurel,  and  the  banner  drooping 
as  if  to  shade  his  brow !  And  there,  too,  visible  in  the  same 
glance,  through  the  vista  of  the  forest,  appeared  the  Great 
Stone  Face !  And  was  there,  indeed,  such  a  resemblance  as  the 
crowd  had  testified  ?  Alas,  Ernest  could  not  recognize  it !  He 
beheld  a  war-worn  and  weather-beaten  countenance,  full  of 
energy,  and  expressive  of  an  iron  will ;  but  the  gentle  wisdom, 
the  deep,  broad,  tender  sympathies,  were  altogether  wanting  in 
Old  Blood-and-Thunder's  visage;  and  even  if  the  Great  Stone 
Face  had  assumed  his  look  of  stern  command,  the  milder  traits 
would  still  have  tempered  it. 

"This  is  not  the  man  of  prophecy,"  sighed  Ernest,  to  him- 
self, as  he  made  his  way  out  of  the  throng.  "  And  must  the 
world  wait  longer  yet  ? " 

The  mists  had  congregated  about  the  distant  mountain-side, 
and  there  were  seen  the  grand  and  awful  features  of  the  Great 
Stone  Face,  awful  but  benignant,  as  if  a  mighty  angel  were 


THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE  l6l 

sitting  among  the  hills,  and  enrobing  himself  in  a  cloud-vesture 
of  gold  and  purple.  As  he  looked,  Ernest  could  hardly  believe  but 
that  a  smile  beamed  over  the  whole  visage,  with  a  radiance  still 
brightening,  although  without  motion  of  the  lips.  It  was  prob- 
ably the  effect  of  the  western  sunshine,  melting  through  the 
thinly  diffused  vapors  that  had  swept  between  him  and  the 
object  that  he  gazed  at.  But  —  as  it  always  did  —  the  aspect  of 
his  marvellous  friend  made  Ernest  as  hopeful  as  if  he  had 
never  hoped  in  vain. 

"  Fear  not,  Ernest,"  said  his  heart,  even  as  if  the  Great  Face 
were  whispering  him,  —  "  fear  not,  Ernest ;  he  will  come." 

More  years  sped  swiftly  and  tranquilly  away.  Ernest  still 
dwelt  in  his  native  valley,  and  was  now  a  man  of  middle  age. 
By  imperceptible  degrees,  he  had  become  known  among  the  peo- 
ple. Now,  as  heretofore,  he  labored  for  his  bread,  and  was  the 
same  simple-hearted  man  that  he  had  always  been.  But  he  had 
thought  and  felt  so  much,  he  had  given  so  many  of  the  best 
hours  of  his  life  to  unworldly  hopes  for  some  great  good  to 
mankind,  that  it  seemed  as  though  he  had  been  talking  with  the 
angels,  and  had  imbibed  a  portion  of  their  wisdom  unawares.  It 
was  visible  in  the  calm  and  well-considered  beneficence  of  his 
daily  life,  the  quiet  stream  of  which  had  made  a  wide  green  mar- 
gin all  along  its  course.  Not  a  day  passed  by,  that  the  world  was 
not  the  better  because  this  man,  humble  as  he  was,  had  lived. 
He  never  stepped  aside  from  his  own  path,  yet  would  always 
reach  a  blessing  to  his  neighbor.  Almost  involuntarily,  too,  he 
had  become  a  preacher.  The  pure  and  high  simplicity  of  his 
thought,  which,  as  one  of  its  manifestations,  took  shape  in  the 
good  deeds  that  dropped  silently  from  his  hand,  flowed  also 
forth  in  speech.  He  uttered  truths  that  wrought  upon  and 
moulded  the  lives  of  those  who  heard  him.  His  auditors,  it  may 
be,  never  suspected  that  Ernest,  their  own  neighbor  and  famil- 
iar friend,  was  more  than  an  ordinary  man;  least  of  all  did 


162  SHORT  STORIES 

Ernest  himself  suspect  it ;  but,  inevitably  as  the  murmur  of  a 
rivulet,  came  thoughts  out  of  his  mouth  that  no  other  human 
lips  had  spoken. 

When  the  people's  minds  had  had  a  little  time  to  cool,  they 
were  ready  enough  to  acknowledge  their  mistake  in  imagining 
a  similarity  between  General  Blood-and-Thunder's  truculent 
physiognomy  and  the  benign  visage  on  the  mountain-side.  But 
now,  again,  there  were  reports  and  many  paragraphs  in  the 
newspapers,  affirming  that  the  likeness  of  the  Great  Stone  Face 
had  appeared  upon  the  broad  shoulders  of  a  certain  eminent 
statesman.  He,  like  Mr.  Gathergold  and  Old  Blood-and-Thun- 
der,  was  a  native  of  the  valley,  but  had  left  it  in  his  early  days, 
and  taken  up  the  trades  of  law  and  politics.  Instead  of  the  rich 
man's  wealth  and  the  warrior's  sword,  he  had  but  a  tongue,  and 
it  was  mightier  than  both  together.  So  wonderfully  eloquent 
was  he,  that  whatever  he  might  choose  to  say,  his  auditors  had 
no  choice  but  to  believe  him ;  wrong  looked  like  right,  and  right 
like  wrong ;  for  when  it  pleased  him,  he  could  make  a  kind  of 
illuminated  fog  with  his  mere  breath,  and  obscure  the  natural 
daylight  with  it.  His  tongue,  indeed,  was  a  magic  instrument : 
sometimes  it  rumbled  like  the  thunder ;  sometimes  it  warbled  like 
the  sweetest  music.  It  was  the  blast  of  war,  —  the  song  of 
peace  ;  and  it  seemed  to  have  a  heart  in  it,  when  there  was  no 
such  matter.  In  good  truth,  he  was  a  wondrous  man ;  and 
when  his  tongue  had  acquired  him  all  other  imaginable  suc- 
cess,—  when  it  had  been  heard  in  halls  of  state,  and  in  the 
courts  of  princes  and  potentates,  —  after  it  had  made  him 
known  all  over  the  world,  even  as  a  voice  crying  from  shore 
to  shore,  —  it  finally  persuaded  his  countrymen  to  select  him 
for  the  Presidency.  Before  this  time,  —  indeed,  as  soon  as  he 
began  to  grow  celebrated,  —  his  admirers  had  found  out  the 
resemblance  between  him  and  the  Great  Stone  Face ;  and  so 
much  were  they  struck  by  it,  that  throughout  the  country  this 


THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE  163 

distinguished  gentleman  was  known  by  the  name  of  Old  Stony 
Phiz.  The  phrase  was  considered  as  giving  a  highly  favorable 
aspect  to  his  political  prospects;  for,  as  is  likewise  the  case 
with  the  Popedom,  nobody  ever  becomes  President  without 
taking  a  name  other  than  his  own. 

While  his  friends  were  doing  their  best  to  make  him  Presi- 
dent, Old  Stony  Phiz,  as  he  was  called,  set  out  on  a  visit  to  the 
valley  where  he  was  born.  Of  course,  he  had  no  other  object 
than  to  shake  hands  with  his  fellow-citizens,  and  neither  thought 
nor  cared  about  any  effect  which  his  progress  through  the  coun- 
try might  have  upon  the  election.  Magnificent  preparations  were 
made  to  receive  the  illustrious  statesman ;  a  cavalcade  of  horse- 
men set  forth  to  meet  him  at  the  boundary  line  of  the  State, 
and  all  the  people  left  their  business  and  gathered  along  the 
wayside  to  see  him  pass.  Among  these  was  Ernest.  Though 
more  than  once  disappointed,  as  we  have  seen,  he  had  such  a 
hopeful  and  confiding  nature,  that  he  was  always  ready  to  believe 
in  whatever  seemed  beautiful  and  good.  He  kept  his  heart  con- 
tinually open,  and  thus  was  sure  to  catch  the  blessing  from  on 
high,  when  it  should  come.  So  now  again,  as  buoyantly  as  ever, 
he  went  forth  to  behold  the  likeness  of  the  Great  Stone  Face. 

The  cavalcade  came  prancing  along  the  road,  with  a  great 
clattering  of  hoofs  and  a  mighty  cloud  of  dust,  which  rose  up 
so  dense  and  high  that  the  visage  of  the  mountain-side  was 
completely  hidden  from  Ernest's  eyes.  All  the  great  men  of 
the  neighborhood  were  there  on  horseback :  militia  officers,  in 
uniform ;  the  member  of  Congress ;  the  sheriff  of  the  county ; 
the  editors  of  newspapers  ;  and  many  a  farmer,  too,  had  mounted 
his  patient  steed,  with  his  Sunday  coat  upon  his  back.  It  really 
was  a  very  brilliant  spectacle,  especially  as  there  were  numer- 
ous banners  flaunting  over  the  cavalcade,  on  some  of  which 
were  gorgeous  portraits  of  the  illustrious  statesman  and  the 
Great  Stone  Face,  smiling  familiarly  at  one  another,  like  two 


164  SHORT  STORIES 

brothers.  If  the  pictures  were  to  be  trusted,  the  mutual  resem- 
blance, it  must  be  confessed,  was  marvellous.  We  must  not  for- 
get to  mention  that  there  was  a  band  of  music,  which  made  the 
echoes  of  the  mountains  ring  and  reverberate  with  the  loud 
triumph  of  its  strains ;  so  that  airy  and  soul-thrilling  melodies 
broke  out  among  all  the  heights  and  hollows,  as  if  every  nook 
of  his  native  valley  had  found  a  voice,  to  welcome  the  distin- 
guished guest.  But  the  grandest  effect  was  when  the  far-off 
mountain  precipice  flung  back  the  music;  for  then  the  Great 
Stone  Face  itself  seemed  to  be  swelling  the  triumphant  chorus, 
in  acknowledgment  that,  at  length,  the  man  of  prophecy  was 
come. 

All  this  while  the  people  were  throwing  up  their  hats  and 
shouting,  with  enthusiasm  so  contagious  that  the  heart  of  Ernest 
kindled  up,  and  he  likewise  threw  up  his  hat,  and  shouted,  as 
loudly  as  the  loudest,  "  Huzza  for  the  great  man  I  Huzza  for 
Old  Stony  Phiz!"  But  as  yet  he  had  not  seen  him. 

"  Here  he  is,  now ! "  cried  those  who  stood  near  Ernest. 
"There!  There!  Look  at  Old  Stony  Phiz  and  then  at  the 
Old  Man  of  the  Mountain,  and  see  if  they  are  not  as  like  as 
two  twin-brothers ! " 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  gallant  array,  came  an  open  barouche, 
drawn  by  four  white  horses;  and  in  the  barouche,  with  his 
massive  head  uncovered,  sat  the  illustrious  statesman,  Old 
Stony  Phiz  himself. 

"  Confess  it,"  said  one  of  Ernest's  neighbors  to  him ;  "  the 
Great  Stone  Face  has  met  its  match  at  last !  " 

Now,  it  must  be  owned  that,  at  his  first  glimpse  of  the  coun- 
tenance which  was  bowing  and  smiling  from  the  barouche, 
Ernest  did  fancy  that  there  was  a  resemblance  between  it  and 
the  old  familiar  face  upon  the  mountain-side.  The  brow,  with 
its  massive  depths  and  loftiness,  and  all  the  other  features,  in- 
deed, were  boldly  and  strongly  hewn,  as  if  in  emulation  of  a 


THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE  165 

more  than  heroic,  of  a  Titanic  model.  But  the  sublimity  and 
stateliness,  the  grand  expression  of  a  divine  sympathy,  that 
illuminated  the  mountain  visage,  and  etherealized  its  ponderous 
granite  substance  into  spirit,  might  here  be  sought  in  vain. 
Something  had  been  originally  left  out,  or  had  departed.  And 
therefore  the  marvellously  gifted  statesman  had  always  a  weary 
gloom  in  the  deep  caverns  of  his  eyes,  as  of  a  child  that  has 
outgrown  its  playthings,  or  a  man  of  mighty  faculties  and  little 
aims,  whose  life,  with  all  its  high  performances,  was  vague  and 
empty,  because  no  high  purpose  had  endowed  it  with  reality. 

Still,  Ernest's  neighbor  was  thrusting  his  elbow  into  his  side, 
and  pressing  him  for  an  answer. 

"  Confess !  confess  !  Is  not  he  the  very  picture  of  your  Old 
Man  of  the  Mountain  ? " 

"  No  !  "  said  Ernest,  bluntly,  "  I  see  little  or  no  likeness." 

"  Then  so  much  the  worse  for  the  Great  Stone  Face ! "  an- 
swered his  neighbor;  and  again  he  set  up  a  shout  for  Old 
Stony  Phiz. 

But  Ernest  turned  away,  melancholy,  and  almost  despondent ; 
for  this  was  the  saddest  of  his  disappointments,  to  behold  a 
man  who  might  have  fulfilled  the  prophecy,  and  had  not  willed 
to  do  so.  Meantime,  the  cavalcade,  the  banners,  the  music,  and 
the  barouches  swept  past  him,  with  the  vociferous  crowd  in  the 
rear,  leaving  the  dust  to  settle  down,  and  the  Great  Stone  Face 
to  be  revealed  again,  with  the  grandeur  that  it  had  worn  for 
untold  centuries. 

"  Lo,  here  I  am,  Ernest ! "  the  benign  lips  seemed  to  say. 
"  I  have  waited  longer  than  thou,  and  am  not  yet  weary.  Fear 
not ;  the  man  will  come." 

The  years  hurried  onward,  treading  in  their  haste  on  one 
another's  heels.  And  now  they  began  to  bring  white  hairs,  and 
scatter  them  over  the  head  of  Ernest;  they  made  reverend 
wrinkles  across  his  forehead,  and  furrows  in  his  cheeks.  He 


166  SHORT  STORIES 

was  an  aged  man.  But  not  in  vain  had  he  grown  old ;  more 
than  the  white  hairs  on  his  head  were  the  sage  thoughts  in  his 
mind ;  his  wrinkles  and  furrows  were  inscriptions  that  Time 
had  graved,  and  in  which  he  had  written  legends  of  wisdom 
that  had  been  tested  by  the  tenor  of  a  life.  And  Ernest  had 
ceased  to  be  obscure.  Unsought  for,  undesired,  had  come  the 
fame  which  so  many  seek,  and  made  him  known  in  the  great 
world,  beyond  the  limits  of  the  valley  in  which  he  had  dwelt  so 
quietly.  College  professors,  and  even  the  active  men  of  cities, 
came  from  far  to  see  and  converse  with  Ernest ;  for  the  report 
had  gone  abroad  that  this  simple  husbandman  had  ideas  unlike 
those  of  other  men,  not  gained  from  books,  but  of  a  higher 
tone,  —  a  tranquil  and  familiar  majesty,  as  if  he  had  been  talk- 
ing with  the  angels  as  his  daily  friends.  Whether  it  were  sage, 
statesman,  or  philanthropist,  Ernest  received  these  visitors  with 
the  gentle  sincerity  that  had  characterized  him  from  boyhood, 
and  spoke  freely  with  them  of  whatever  came  uppermost,  or 
lay  deepest  in  his  heart  or  their  own.  While  they  talked  to- 
gether, his  face  would  kindle,  unawares,  and  shine  upon  them, 
as  with  a  mild  evening  light.  Pensive  with  the  fulness  of  such 
discourse,  his  guests  took  leave  and  went  their  way ;  and  pass- 
ing up  the  valley,  paused  to  look  at  the  Great  Stone  Face, 
imagining  that  they  had  seen  its  likeness  in  a  human  counte- 
nance, but  could  not  remember  where. 

While  Ernest  had  been  growing  up  and  growing  old,  a  boun- 
tiful Providence  had  granted  a  new  poet  to  this  earth.  He, 
likewise,  was  a  native  of  the  valley,  but  had  spent  the  greater 
part  of  his  life  at  a  distance  from  that  romantic  region,  pouring 
out  his  sweet  music  amid  the  bustle  and  din  of  cities.  Often, 
however,  did  the  mountains  which  had  been  familiar  to  him  in 
his  childhood  lift  their  snowy  peaks  into  the  clear  atmosphere 
of  his  poetry.  Neither  was  the  Great  Stone  Face  forgotten,  for 
the  poet  had  celebrated  it  in  an  ode,  which  was  grand  enough 


THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE  167 

to  have  been  uttered  by  its  own  majestic  lips.  This  man  of 
genius,  we  may  say,  had  come  down  from  heaven  with  won- 
derful endowments.  If  he  sang  of  a  mountain,  the  eyes  of  all 
mankind  beheld  a  mightier  grandeur  reposing  on  its  breast,  or 
soaring  to  its  summit,  than  had  before  been  seen  there.  If  his 
theme  were  a  lovely  lake,  a  celestial  smile  had  now  been  thrown 
over  it,  to  gleam  forever  on  its  surface.  If  it  were  the  vast  old 
sea,  even  the  deep  immensity  of  its  dread  bosom  seemed  to 
swell  the  higher,  as  if  moved  by  the  emotions  of  the  song. 
Thus  the  world  assumed  another  and  a  better  aspect  from  the 
hour  that  the  poet  blessed  it  with  his  happy  eyes.  The  Creator 
had  bestowed  him,  as  the  last  best  touch  to  his  own  handiwork. 
Creation  was  not  finished  till  the  poet  came  to  interpret,  and  so 
complete  it. 

The  effect  was  no  less  high  and  beautiful,  when  his  human 
brethren  were  the  subject  of  his  verse.  The  man  or  woman, 
sordid  with  the  common  dust  of  life,  who  crossed  his  daily 
path,  and  the  little  child  who  played  in  it,  were  glorified  if  he 
beheld  them  in  his  mood  of  poetic  faith.  He  showed  the  golden 
links  of  the  great  chain  that  intertwined  them  with  an  angelic 
kindred ;  he  brought  out  the  hidden  traits  of  a  celestial  birth 
that  made  them  worthy  of  such  kin.  Some,  indeed,  there  were, 
who  thought  to  show  the  soundness  of  their  judgment  by  affirm- 
ing that  all  the  beauty  and  dignity  of  the  natural  world  existed 
only  in  the  poet's  fancy.  Let  such  men  speak  for  themselves, 
who  undoubtedly  appear  to  have  been  spawned  forth  by  Nature 
with  a  contemptuous  .bitterness  ;  she  having  plastered  them  up 
out  of  her  refuse  stuff,  after  all  the  swine  were  made.  As 
respects  all  things  else,  the  poet's  ideal  was  the  truest  truth. 

The  songs  of  this  poet  found  their  way  to  Ernest.  He  read 
them  after  his  customary  toil,  seated  on  the  bench  before  his 
cottage-door,  where  for  such  a  length  of  time  he  had  filled  his 
repose  with  thought,  by  gazing  at  the  Great  Stone  Face.  And 


168  SHORT  STORIES 

now  as  he  read  stanzas  that  caused  the  soul  to  thrill  within  him, 
he  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  vast  countenance  beaming  on  him  so 
benignantly. 

"  O  majestic  friend,"  he  murmured,  addressing  the  Great 
Stone  Face,  "  is  not  this  man  worthy  to  resemble  thee  ? " 

The  Face  seemed  to  smile,  but  answered  not  a  word. 

Now  it  happened  that  the  poet,  though  he  dwelt  so  far  away, 
had  not  only  heard  of  Ernest,  but  had  meditated  much  upon 
his  character,  until  he  deemed  nothing  so  desirable  as  to  meet 
this  man,  whose  untaught  wisdom  walked  hand  in  hand  with 
the  noble  simplicity  of  his  life.  One  summer  morning,  therefore, 
he  took  passage  by  the  railroad,  and,  in  the  decline  of  the  after- 
noon, alighted  from  the  cars  at  no  great  distance  from  Ernest's 
cottage.  The  great  hotel,  which  had  formerly  been  the  palace 
of  Mr.  Gathergold,  was  close  at  hand,  but  the  poet,  with  his 
carpet-bag  on  his  arm,  inquired  at  once  where  Ernest  dwelt, 
and  was  resolved  to  be  accepted  as  his  guest 

Approaching  the  door,  he  there  found  the  good  old  man, 
holding  a  volume  in  his  hand,  which  alternately  he  read,  and 
then,  with  a  finger  between  the  leaves,  looked  lovingly  at  the 
Great  Stone  Face. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  the  poet  "  Can  you  give  a  traveller  a 
night's  lodging  ? " 

"Willingly,"  answered  Ernest;  and  then  he  added,  smiling, 
"  Methinks  I  never  saw  the  Great  Stone  Face  look  so  hospitably 
at  a  stranger." 

The  poet  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  him,  and  he  and 
Ernest  talked  together.  Often  had  the  poet  held  intercourse 
with  the  wittiest  and  the  wisest,  but  never  before  with  a  man 
like  Ernest,  whose  thoughts  and  feelings  gushed  up  with  such 
a  natural  freedom,  and  who  made  great  truths  so  familiar  by 
his  simple  utterance  of  them.  Angels,  as  had  been  so  often 
said,  seemed  to  have  wrought  with  him  at  his  labor  in  the  fields ; 


THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE  169 

angels  seemed  to  have  sat  with  him  by  the  fireside;  and, 
dwelling  with  angels  as  friend  with  friends,  he  had  imbibed  the 
sublimity  of  their  ideas,  and  imbued  it  with  the  sweet  and  lowly 
charm  of  household  words.  So  thought  the  poet.  And  Ernest, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  moved  and  agitated  by  the  living  images 
which  the  poet  flung  out  of  his  mind,  and  which  peopled  all 
the  air  about  the  cottage-door  with  shapes  of  beauty,  both  gay 
and  pensive.  The  sympathies  of  these  two  men  instructed 
them  with  a  profounder  sense  than  either  could  have  attained 
alone.  Their  minds  accorded  into  one  strain,  and  made  de- 
lightful music  which  neither  of  them  could  have  claimed  as 
all  his  own,  nor  distinguished  his  own  share  from  the  other's. 
They  led  one  another,  as  it  were,  into  a  high  pavilion  of  their 
thoughts,  so  remote,  and  hitherto  so  dim,  that  they  had  never 
entered  it  before,  and  so  beautiful  that  they  desired  to  be 
there  always. 

As  Ernest  listened  to  the  poet,  he  imagined  that  the  Great 
Stone  Face  was  bending  forward  to  listen  too.  He  gazed 
earnestly  into  the  poet's  glowing  eyes. 

"  Who  are  you,  my  strangely  gifted  guest  ?  "  he  said. 

The  poet  laid  his  finger  on  the  volume  that  Ernest  had  been 
reading. 

"You  have  read  these  poems,"  said  he.  "You  know  me, 
then,  —  for  I  wrote  them." 

Again,  and  still  more  earnestly  than  before,  Ernest  exam- 
ined the  poet's  features ;  then  turned  towards  the  Great  Stone 
Face ;  then  back,  with  an  uncertain  aspect,  to  his  guest.  But 
his  countenance  fell ;  he  shook  his  head,  and  sighed. 

"  Wherefore  are  you  sad  ? "  inquired  the  poet. 

"  Because,"  replied  Ernest,  "  all  through  life  I  have  awaited 
the  fulfilment  of  a  prophecy ;  and,  when  I  read  these  poems, 
I  hoped  that  it  might  be  fulfilled  in  you." 

u  You  hoped,"  answered  the  poet,  faintly  smiling,  "  to  find 


SHORT  STORIES 

in  me  the  likeness  of  the  Great  Stone  Face.  And  you  are 
disappointed,  as  formerly  with  Mr.  Gathergold,  and  Old  Blood- 
and-Thunder,  and  Old  Stony  Phiz.  Yes,  Ernest,  it  is  my  doom. 
You  must  add  my  name  to  the  illustrious  three,  and  record 
another  failure  of  your  hopes.  For  —  in  shame  and  sadness 
do  I  speak  it,  Ernest  —  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  typified  by 
yonder  benign  and  majestic  image." 

"  And  why  ?  "  asked  Ernest.  He  pointed  to  the  volume. 
"Are  not  those  thoughts  divine?" 

"  They  have  a  strain  of  the  Divinity,"  replied  the  poet.  "  You 
can  hear  in  them  the  far-off  echo  of  a  heavenly  song.  But  my 
life,  dear  Ernest,  has  not  corresponded  with  my  thought.  I 
have  had  grand  dreams,  but  they  have  been  only  dreams, 
because  I  have  lived  —  and  that,  too,  by  my  own  choice  — 
among  poor  and  mean  realities.  Sometimes  even  —  shall  I 
dare  to  say  it  ?  —  I  lack  faith  in  the  grandeur,  the  beauty,  and 
the  goodness,  which  my  own  works  are  said  to  have  made 
more  evident  in  nature  and  in  human  life.  Why,  then,  pure 
seeker  of  the  good  and  true,  shouldst  thou  hope  to  find  me, 
in  yonder  image  of  the  divine?" 

The  poet  spoke  sadly,  and  his  eyes  were  dim  with  tears. 
So,  likewise,  were  those  of  Ernest. 

At  the  hour  of  sunset,  as  had  long  been  his  frequent  custom, 
Ernest  was  to  discourse  to  an  assemblage  of  the  neighboring 
inhabitants  in  the  open  air.  He  and  the  poet,  arm  in  arm,  still 
talking  together  as  they  went  along,  proceeded  to  the  spot.  It 
was  a  small  nook  among  the  hills,  with  a  gray  precipice  behind, 
the  stern  front  of  which  was  relieved  by  the  pleasant  foliage 
of  many  creeping  plants,  that  made  a  tapestry  for  the  naked 
rock,  by  hanging  their  festoons  from  all  its  rugged  angles.  At 
a  small  elevation  above  the  ground,  set  in  a  rich  framework  of 
verdure,  there  appeared  a  niche,  spacious  enough  to  admit  a 
human  figure,  with  freedom  for  such  gestures  as  spontaneously 


THE  GREAT  STONE  FACE  I/I 

accompany  earnest  thought  and  genuine  emotion.  Into  this 
natural  pulpit  Ernest  ascended,  and  threw  a  look  of  familiar 
kindness  around  upon  his  audience.  They  stood,  or  sat,  or 
reclined  upon  the  grass,  as  seemed  good  to  each,  with  the 
departing  sunshine  falling  obliquely  over  them,  and  mingling 
its  subdued  cheerfulness  with  the  solemnity  of  a  grove  of 
ancient  trees,  beneath  and  amid  the  boughs  of  which  the 
golden  rays  were  constrained  to  pass.  In  another  direction 
was  seen  the  Great  Stone  Face,  with  the  same  cheer,  combined 
with  the  same  solemnity,  in  its  benignant  aspect. 

Ernest  began  to  speak,  giving  to  the  people  of  what  was  in 
his  heart  and  mind.  His  words  had  power,  because  they 
accorded  with  his  thoughts ;  and  his  thoughts  had  reality  and 
depth,  because  they  harmonized  with  the  life  which  he  had 
always  lived.  It  was  not  mere  breath  that  this  preacher  uttered ; 
they  were  the  words  of  life,  because  a  life  of  good  deeds  and 
holy  love  was  melted  into  them.  Pearls,  pure  and  rich,  had 
been  dissolved  into  this  precious  draught.  The  poet,  as  he 
listened,  felt  that  the  being  and  character  of  Ernest  were  a 
nobler  strain  of  poetry  than  he  had  ever  written.  His  eyes 
glistening  with  tears,  he  gazed  reverentially  at  the  venerable 
man,  and  said  within  himself  that  never  was  there  an  aspect  so 
worthy  of  a  prophet  and  a  sage  as  that  mild,  sweet,  thoughtful 
countenance,  with  the  glory  of  white  hair  diffused  about  it.  At 
a  distance,  but  distinctly  to  be  seen,  high  up  in  the  golden 
light  of  the  setting  sun,  appeared  the  Great  Stone  Face,  with 
hoary  mists  around  it,  like  the  white  hairs  around  the  brow 
of  Ernest.  Its  look  of  grand  beneficence  seemed  to  embrace 
the  world. 

At  that  moment,  in  sympathy  with  a  thought  which  he  was 
about  to  utter,  the  face  of  Ernest  assumed  a  grandeur  of 
expression,  so  imbued  with  benevolence,  that  the  poet,  by  an 
irresistible  impulse,  threw  his  arms  aloft,  and  shouted,  — 


SHORT  STORIES 

"  Behold  I  Behold !  Ernest  is  himself  the  likeness  of  the 
Great  Stone  Facel" 

Then  all  the  people  looked,  and  saw  that  what  the  deep-sighted 
poet  said  was  true.  The  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  But  Ernest, 
having  finished  what  he  had  to  say,  took  the  poet's  arm,  and 
walked  slowly  homeward,  still  hoping  that  some  wiser  and 
better  man  than  himself  would  by  and  by  appear,  bearing  a 
resemblance  to  the  GREAT  STONE  FACE. 


VII.   RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  (1858)1 
BY  DR.  JOHN  BROWN  (1810-1882) 

[Setting.  Dr.  Brown  was  once  driving  with  a  friend  through 
a  crowded  section  of  Edinburgh  when  he  stopped  in  the  middle 
of  a  sentence,  seeming  to  be  surprised  at  something  behind 
the  carriage.  "  Is  it  some  one  you  know  ? "  the  friend  asked. 
"  No,"  was  the  reply,  "  it 's  a  dog  I  don't  know."  Needless  to 
say  that  u  Rab  and  his  Friends  "  is  an  Edinburgh  story.  The 
time  is  about  1824-1830.  In  the  Scotch  dialect "  weel  a  weel " 
means  "all  right";  "till"  means  "to";  "I'se"  means  "I 
shall";  "he's"  means  "he  shall";  "ower  clean  to  beil" 
means  "  too  clean  to  suppurate  " ;  "  fremyt "  means  "  strange  "  ; 
"  a'  the  lave  "  means  "  all  the  rest "  ;  "  in  the  treviss  wi'  the 
mear  "  means  "  in  the  stall  with  the  mare." 

Plot.  From  ^Esop's  Fables  to  Kipling's  Jungle  Books  litera- 
ture is  full  of  animal  stories.  But  there  is  no  dog  story  better  told 
than  this  and  none  that  appeals  more  to  our  deeper  sympathies. 
It  is  more  of  a  character  sketch  than  a  short  story,  the  inci- 
dents and  characters  being  bound  together  by  a  common  rela- 
tion to  Rab.  From  his  leisurely  first  appearance  in  the  story, 
"  a  huge  mastiff,  sauntering  down  the  middle  of  the  causeway, 
as  if  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,"  to  the  unanswerable  last 
question  — "  His  teeth  and  his  friends  gone,  why  should  he 
keep  the  peace,  and  be  civil?"  —  we  follow  Rab's  pathetic 
career  with  the  growing  conviction  that  "  his  like  was  na  atween 
this  and  Thornhill,"  however  distant  Thornhill  may  have 
been.  Character  sketches  are  apt  to  be  uninteresting  because 

1  From  "  Rab  and  his  Friends  and  Other  Dogs  and  Men." 
173 


1/4  SHORT   STORIES 

there  is  usually  too  little  action  and  too  much  description.  The 
adjectives  tend  to  smother  the  verbs.  "  They  have,"  said  Haw- 
thorne of  his  "  Twice-Told  Tales,"  "  the  pale  tint  of  flowers 
that  blossomed  in  too  retired  a  shade,  —  the  coolness  of  a 
meditative  habit,  which  diffuses  itself  through  the  feeling  and 
observation  of  every  sketch."  But  no  such  charge  can  be  laid 
at  the  door  of  "  Rab  and  his  Friends."  The  very  dumbness  of 
Rab,  his  mute  yearning  to  help,  his  brave  and  loyal  ministries 
in  the  hospital,  doubly  affecting  because  wordless  and  impotent, 
lend  an  appeal  to  this  sketch  that  few  sketches  of  men  and 
women  can  be  said  to  have. 

Characters.  In  a  later  sketch  called  "  Our  Dogs  "  Dr.  Brown 
tells  how  Rab  became  the  property  of  James  and  Ailie.  He 
had  been  terrifying  everybody  at  Macbie  Hill  and  his  owner 
ordered  him  to  be  hanged.  As  Rab  was  getting  the  better  of 
the  contest,  his  owner  commanded  that  he  be  shot.  But  Ailie, 
who  happened  to  be  near,  noticed  that  he  had  a  big  splinter  in 
his  foreleg.  "  She  gave  him  water,"  says  Dr.  Brown,  "  and  by 
her  woman's  wit  got  his  lame  paw  under  a  door,  so  that  he 
could  n't  suddenly  get  at  her ;  then  with  a  quick  firm  hand  she 
plucked  out  the  splinter,  and  put  in  an  ample  meal.  She  went 
in  some  time  after,  taking  no  notice  of  him,  and  he  came  limp- 
ing up,  and  laid  his  great  jaws  in  her  lap."  From  that  moment 
they  became  friends.  A  little  later  James  was  in  a  lonely  part 
of  the  woods  when  a  robber  sprang  at  him  and  demanded  his 
money.  "  Weel  a  weel,  let  me  get  it,"  said  James,  and  stepping 
back  he  whispered  to  Rab,  "  Speak  till  him,  my  man."  Rab 
had  the  robber  down  in  an  instant. 

In  "  Rab  and  his  Friends  "  the  great  mastiff  shows  just  the 
qualities  that  we  should  expect  from  this  account  of  his  earlier 
career.  But  his  sympathy  and  affection  for  Ailie,  shown  so 
tenderly  in  the  hospital  scenes,  find  an  added  pathos  in  the 
thought  that  he  was  serving  his  first  and  best  friend,  one 
who  had  healed  his  hurt  as  he  would  have  healed  hers  if 
he  could.] 


RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  175 

Four-and-thirty  years  ago,  Bob  Ainslie  and  I  were  coming  up 
Infirmary  Street  from  the  Edinburgh  High  School,  our  heads 
together,  and  our  arms  intertwisted,  as  only  lovers  and  boys 
know  how,  or  why. 

When  we  got  to  the  top  of  the  street,  and  turned  north,  we 
espied  a  crowd  at  the  Tron  Church.  "  A  dog-fight !  "  shouted 
Bob,  and  was  off ;  and  so  was  I,  both  of  us  all  but  praying  that 
it  might  not  be  over  before  we  got  up !  And  is  not  this  boy- 
nature  ?  and  human  nature  too  ?  and  don't  we  all  wish  a  house 
on  fire  not  to  be  out  before  we  see  it  ?  Dogs  like  fighting ;  old 
Isaac  says  they  "  delight "  in  it,  and  for  the  best  of  all  reasons ; 
and  boys  are  not  cruel  because  they  like  to  see  the  fight.  They 
see  three  of  the  great  cardinal  virtues  of  dog  or  man  —  courage, 
endurance,  and  skill  —  in  intense  action.  This  is  very  different 
from  a  love  of  making  dogs  fight,  and  enjoying,  and  aggravat- 
ing, and  making  gain  by  their  pluck.  A  boy, —  be  he  ever  so 
fond  himself  of  fighting,  —  if  he  be  a  good  boy,  hates  and 
despises  all  this,  but  he  would  have  run  off  with  Bob  and  me 
fast  enough :  it  is  a  natural,  and  a  not  wicked  interest,  that  all 
boys  and  men  have  in  witnessing  intense  energy  in  action. 

Does  any  curious  and  finely-ignorant  woman  wish  to  know 
how  Bob's  eye  at  a  glance  announced  a  dog-fight  to  his  brain  ? 
He  did  not,  he  could  not  see  the  dogs  fighting ;  it  was  a  flash 
of  an  inference,  a  rapid  induction.  The  crowd  round  a  couple 
of  dogs  fighting  is  a  crowd  masculine  mainly,  with  an  occasional 
active,  compassionate  woman,  fluttering  wildly  round  the  out- 
side, and  using  her  tongue  and  her  hands  freely  upon  the  men, 
as  so  many  "brutes";  it  is  a  crowd  annular,  compact,  and 
mobile ;  a  crowd  centripetal,  having  its  eyes  and  its  heads  all 
bent  downwards  and  inwards,  to  one  common  focus. 

Well,  Bob  and  I  are  up,  and  find  it  is  not  over:  a  small 
thoroughbred,  white  Bull  Terrier,  is  busy  throttling  a  large 
shepherd's  dog,  unaccustomed  to  war,  but  not  to  be  trifled  with. 


176  SHORT  STORIES 

They  are  hard  at  it ;  the  scientific  little  fellow  doing  his  work 
in  great  style,  his  pastoral  enemy  fighting  wildly,  but  with  the 
sharpest  of  teeth  and  a  great  courage.  Science  and  breeding, 
however,  soon  had  their  own ;  the  Game  Chicken,  as  the  pre- 
mature Bob  called  him,  working  his  way  up,  took  his  final  grip 
of  poor  Yarrow's  throat,  —  and  he  lay  gasping  and  done  for. 
His  master,  a  brown,  handsome,  big  young  shepherd  from 
Tweedsmuir,  would  have  liked  to  have  knocked  down  any  man, 
would  "  drink  up  Esil,1  or  eat  a  crocodile,"  for  that  part,  if  he 
had  a  chance :  it  was  no  use  kicking  the  little  dog ;  that  would 
only  make  him  hold  the  closer.  Many  were  the  means  shouted 
out  in  mouthfuls,  of  the  best  possible  ways  of  ending  it. 
"  Water  I "  but  there  was  none  near,  and  many  cried  for  it 
who  might. have  got  it  from  the  well  at  Blackfriars  Wynd. 
"  Bite  the  tail ! "  and  a  large,  vague,  benevolent,  middle-aged 
man,  more  desirous  than  wise,  with  some  struggle  got  the  bushy 
end  of  Yarrow's  tail  into  his  ample  mouth,  and  bit  it  with  all 
his  might.  This  was  more  than  enough  for  the  much-enduring, 
much-perspiring  shepherd,  who,  with  a  gleam  of  joy  over  his 
broad  visage,  delivered  a  terrific  facer  upon  our  large,  vague, 
benevolent,  middle-aged  friend,  —  who  went  down  like  a  shot. 

Still  the  Chicken  holds ;  death  not  far  off.  "  Snuff !  a  pinch 
of  snuff ! "  observed  a  calm,  highly-dressed  young  buck,  with 
an  eye-glass  in  his  eye.  "  Snuff,  indeed ! "  growled  the  angry 
crowd,  affronted  and  glaring.  "  Snuff !  a  pinch  of  snuff  1 " 
again  observed  the  buck,  but  with  more  urgency ;  whereon  were 
produced  several  open  boxes,  and  from  a  mull  which  may  have 
been  at  Culloden,  he  took  a  pinch,  knelt  down,  and  presented  it 
to  the  nose  of  the  Chicken.  The  laws  of  physiology  and  of  snuff 
take  their  course ;  the  Chicken  sneezes,  and  Yarrow  is  free  1 

The  young  pastoral  giant  stalks  off  with  Yarrow  in  his  arms, 
—  comforting  him. 

1  Esil,  "  vinegar  "  (Hamlet,  V,  I,  299). 


RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  177 

But  the  Bull  Terrier's  blood  is  up,  and  his  soul  unsatisfied ; 
he  grips  the  first  dog  he  meets,  and  discovering  she  is  not  a 
dog,  in  Homeric  phrase,  he  makes  a  brief  sort  of  amende,  and 
is  off.  The  boys,  with  Bob  and  me  at  their  head,  are  after  him  : 
down  Niddry  Street  he  goes,  bent  on  mischief ;  up  the  Cowgate 
like  an  arrow  —  Bob  and  I,  and  our  small  men,  panting  behind. 

There,  under  the  single  arch  of  the  South  Bridge,  is  a  huge 
mastiff,  sauntering  down  the  middle  of  the  causeway,  as  if  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets :  he  is  old,  gray,  brindled,  as  big  as 
a  little  Highland  bull,  and  has  the  Shakesperian  dewlaps  shaking 
as  he  goes. 

The  Chicken  makes  straight  at  him,  and  fastens  on  his  throat. 
To  our  astonishment,  the  great  creature  does  nothing  but  stand 
still,  hold  himself  up,  and  roar  —  yes,  roar;  a  long,  serious, 
remonstrative  roar.  How  is  this  ?  Bob  and  I  are  up  to  them. 
He  is  muzzled!  The  bailies  had  proclaimed  a  general  muzzling, 
and  his  master,  studying  strength  and  economy  mainly,  had 
encompassed  his  huge  jaws  in  a  home-made  apparatus,  con- 
structed out  of  the  leather  of  some  ancient  breechin.  His  mouth 
was  open  as  far  as  it  could ;  his  lips  curled  up  in  rage  —  a  sort 
of  terrible  grin ;  his  teeth  gleaming,  ready,  from  out  the  dark- 
ness ;  the  strap  across  his  mouth  tense  as  a  bowstring ;  his 
whole  frame  stiff  with  indignation  and  surprise ;  his  roar  asking 
us  all  round,  "  Did  you  ever  see  the  like  of  this  ? "  He  looked 
a  statue  of  anger  and  astonishment,  done  in  Aberdeen  granite. 

We  soon  had  a  crowd :  the  Chicken  held  on.  "  A  knife !  " 
cried  Bob ;  and  a  cobbler  gave  him  his  knife :  you  know  the 
kind  of  knife,  worn  away  obliquely  to  a  point,  and  always  keen. 
I  put  its  edge  to  the  tense  leather ;  it  ran  before  it ;  and  then ! 
—  one  sudden  jerk  of  that  enormous  head,  a  sort  of  dirty  mist 
about  his  mouth,  no  noise,  —  and  the  bright  and  fierce  little 
fellow  is  dropped,  limp,  and  dead.  A  solemn  pause :  this  was 
more  than  any  of  us  had  bargained  for.  I  turned  the  little 


1/8  SHORT  STORIES 

fellow  over,  and  saw  he  was  quite  dead ;  the  mastiff  had  taken 
him  by  the  small  of  the  back  like  a  rat,  and  broken  it. 

He  looked  down  at  his  victim  appeased,  ashamed,  and 
amazed ;  snuffed  him  all  over,  stared  at  him,  and  taking  a 
sudden  thought,  turned  round  and  trotted  off.  Bob  took  the 
dead  dog  up,  and  said,  "John,  we'll  bury  him  after  tea." 
"  Yes,"  said  I,  and  was  off  after  the  mastiff.  He  made  up  the 
Cowgate  at  a  rapid  swing ;  he  had  forgotten  some  engagement. 
He  turned  up  the  Candlemaker  Row,  and  stopped  at  the 
Harrow  Inn. 

There  was  a  carrier's  cart  ready  to  start,  and  a  keen,  thin, 
impatient,  black-a-vised  little  man,  his  hand  at  his  gray  horse's 
head,  looking  about  angrily  for  something.  "  Rab,  ye  thief !  " 
said  he,  aiming  a  kick  at  my  great  friend,  who  drew  cringing 
up,  and  avoiding  the  heavy  shoe  with  more  agility  than  dignity, 
and  watching  his  master's  eye,  slunk  dismayed  under  the  cart, 
—  his  ears  down,  and  as  much  as  he  had  of  tail  down  too. 

What  a  man  this  must  be  —  thought  I  —  to  whom  my  tre- 
mendous hero  turns  tail !  The  carrier  saw  the  muzzle  hanging, 
cut  and  useless,  from  his  neck,  and  I  eagerly  told  him  the  story, 
which  Bob  and  I  always  thought,  and  still  think,  Homer,  or 
King  David,  or  Sir  Walter  alone  were  worthy  to  rehearse.  The 
severe  little  man  was  mitigated,  and  condescended  to  say,  "  Rab, 
my  man,  puir  Rabbie,"  —  whereupon  the  stump  of  a  tail  rose 
up,  the  ears  were  cocked,  the  eyes  filled,  and  were  comforted ; 
the  two  friends  were  reconciled.  "  Hupp  !  "  and  a  stroke  of  the 
whip  were  given  to  Jess ;  and  off  went  the  three. 

Bob  and  I  buried  the  Game  Chicken  that  night  (we  had  not 
much  of  a  tea)  in  the  back-green  of  his  house  in  Melville  Street, 
No.  17,  with  considerable  gravity  and  silence ;  and  being  at  the 
time  in  the  Iliad,  and,  like  all  boys,  Trojans,  we  called  him 
Hector  of  coarse. 


RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  179 

Six  years  have  passed,  —  a  long  time  for  a  boy  and  a  dog : 
Bob  Ainslie  is  off  to  the  wars;  I  am  a  medical  student,  and 
clerk  at  Minto  House  Hospital. 

Rab  I  saw  almost  every  week,  on  the  Wednesday,  and  we 
had  much  pleasant  intimacy.  I  found  the  way  to  his  heart  by 
frequent  scratching  of  his  huge  head,  and  an  occasional  bone. 
When  I  did  not  notice  him  he  would  plant  himself  straight 
before  me,  and  stand  wagging  that  bud  of  a  tail,  and  looking 
up,  with  his  head  a  little  to  the  one  side.  His  master  I  occa- 
sionally saw ;  he  used  to  call  me  "  Maister  John,"  but  was 
laconic  as  any  Spartan. 

One  fine  October  afternoon,  I  was  leaving  the  hospital,  when 
I  saw  the  large  gate  open,  and  in  walked  Rab,  with  that  great 
and  easy  saunter  of  his.  He  looked  as  if  taking  general  posses- 
sion of  the  place ;  like  the  Duke  of  Wellington  entering  a  sub- 
dued city,  satiated  with  victory  and  peace.  After  him  came  Jess, 
now  white  from  age,  with  her  cart ;  and  in  it  a  woman,  carefully 
wrapped  up,  —  the  carrier  leading  the  horse  anxiously,  and 
looking  back.  When  he  saw  me,  James  (for  his  name  was 
James  Noble)  made  a  curt  and  grotesque  "  boo,"  and  said, 
"  Maister  John,  this  is  the  mistress ;  she  's  got  a  trouble  in  her 
breest  —  some  kind  o'  an  income  we  're  thinking." 

By  this  time  I  saw  the  woman's  face  ;  she  was  sitting  on  a 
sack  filled  with  straw,  her  husband's  plaid  round  her,  and  his 
big-coat  with  its  large  white  metal  buttons,  over  her  feet. 

I  never  saw  a  more  unforgettable  face  —  pale,  serious,  lonely? 
delicate,  sweet,  without  being  at  all  what  we  call  fine.  She  looked 
sixty,  and  had  on  a  mutch,  white  as  snow,  with  its  black  ribbon ; 
her  silvery,  smooth  hair  setting  off  her  dark-gray  eyes  —  eyes 
such  as  one  sees  only  twice  or  thrice  in  a  lifetime,  full  of  suffer- 
ing, full  also  of  the  overcoming  of  it :  her  eyebrows  black  and 

1  It  is  not  easy  giving  this  look  by  one  word ;  it  was  expressive  of 
her  being  so  much  of  her  life  alone. 


180  SHORT  STORIES 

delicate,  and  her  mouth  firm,  patient,  and  contented,  which  few 
mouths  ever  are. 

As  I  have  said,  I  never  saw  a  more  beautiful  countenance, 
or  one  more  subdued  to  settled  quiet.  "Ailie,"  said  James, 
"  this  is  Maister  John,  the  young  doctor ;  Rab's  freend,  ye  ken. 
We  often  speak  aboot  you,  doctor."  She  smiled,  and  made  a 
movement,  but  said  nothing ;  and  prepared  to  come  down,  put- 
ting her  plaid  aside  and  rising.  Had  Solomon,  in  all  his  glory, 
been  handing  down  the  Queen  of  Sheba  at  his  palace  gate  he 
could  not  have  done  it  more  daintily,  more  tenderly,  more  like 
a  gentleman,  than  did  James  the  Howgate  carrier,  when  he  lifted 
down  Ailie  his  wife.  The  contrast  of  his  small,  swarthy,  weather- 
beaten,  keen,  worldly  face  to  hers  —  pale,  subdued,  and  beauti- 
ful —  was  something  wonderful.  Rab  looked  on  concerned  and 
puzzled,  but  ready  for  anything  that  might  turn  up,  —  were  it 
to  strangle  the  nurse,  the  porter,  or  even  me.  Ailie  and  he 
seemed  great  friends. 

"  As  I  was  sayin'  she 's  got  a  kind  o'  trouble  in  her  breest,  doc- 
tor ;  wull  ye  tak'  a  look  at  it  ? "  We  walked  into  the  consulting- 
room,  all  four ;  Rab  grim  and  comic,  willing  to  be  happy  and 
confidential  if  cause  could  be  shown,  willing  also  to  be  the 
reverse,  on  the  same  terms.  Ailie  sat  down,  undid  her  open 
gown  and  her  lawn  handkerchief  round  her  neck,  and  without 
a  word,  showed  me  her  right  breast.  I  looked  at  and  examined 
it  carefully,  —  she  and  James  watching  me,  and  Rab  eying  all 
three.  What  could  I  say  ?  there  it  was,  that  had  once  been  so 
soft,  so  shapely,  so  white,  so  gracious  and  bountiful,  so  "  full  of 
all  blessed  conditions,"  —  hard  as  a  stone,  a  centre  of  horrid 
pain,  making  that  pale  face,  with  its  gray,  lucid,  reasonable 
eyes,  and  its  sweet  resolved  mouth,  express  the  full  measure 
of  suffering  overcome.  Why  was  that  gentle,  modest,  sweet 
woman,  clean  and  lovable,  condemned  by  God  to  bear  such  a 
burden  ? 


RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  l8l 

I  got  her  away  to  bed.  "May  Rab  and  me  bide?"  said 
James.  "  You  may ;  and  Rab,  if  he  will  behave  himself."  "  I  'se 
warrant  he 's  do  that,  doctor ; "  and  in  slank  the  faithful  beast. 
I  wish  you  could  have  seen  him.  There  are  no  such  dogs  now. 
He  belonged  to  a  lost  tribe.  As  I  have  said,  he  was  brindled 
and  gray  like  Rubislaw  granite ;  his  hair  short,  hard,  and  close, 
like  a  lion's ;  his  body  thick  set,  like  a  little  bull  —  a  sort  of  com- 
pressed Hercules  of  a  dog.  He  must  have  been  ninety  pounds' 
weight,  at  the  least ;  he  had  a  large  blunt  head  ;  his  muzzle  black 
as  night,  his  mouth  blacker  than  any  night,  a  tooth  or  two  — 
being  all  he  had  —  gleaming  out  of  his  jaws  of  darkness.  His 
head  was  scarred  with  the  records  of  old  wounds,  a  sort  of  series 
of  fields  of  battle  all  over  it ;  one  eye  out,  one  ear  cropped  as 
close  as  was  Archbishop  Leighton's  father's ;  the  remaining  eye 
had  the  power  of  two ;  and  above  it,  and  in  constant  communi- 
cation with  it,  was  a  tattered  rag  of  an  ear,  which  was  forever 
unfurling  itself,  like  an  old  flag ;  and  then  that  bud  of  a  tail, 
about  one  inch  long,  if  it  could  in  any  sense  be  said  to  be  long, 
being  as  broad  as  long  —  the  mobility,  the  instantaneousness  of 
that  bud  were  very  funny  and  surprising,  and  its  expressive  twin- 
klings and  winkings,  the  intercommunications  between  the  eye, 
the  ear,  and  it,  were  of  the  oddest  and  swiftest. 

Rab  had  the  dignity  and  simplicity  of  great  size ;  and  having 
fought  his  way  all  along  the  road  to  absolute  supremacy,  he  was 
as  mighty  in  his  own  line  as  Julius  Caesar  or  the  Duke  of  Well- 
ington, and  had  the  gravity l  of  all  great  fighters. 

You  must  have  often  observed  the  likeness  of  certain  men  to 
certain  animals,  and  of  certain  dogs  to  men.  Now,  I  never 
looked  at  Rab  without  thinking  of  the  great  Baptist  preacher, 

1  A  Highland  game-keeper,  when  asked  why  a  certain  terrier,  of  sin- 
gular pluck,  was  so  much  more  solemn  than  the  other  dogs,  said,  w  Oh, 
Sir,  life  's  full  o'  sairiousness  to  him  —  he  just  never  can  get  enuff  o' 
fechtin'." 


182  SHORT  STORIES 

Andrew  Fuller.1  The  same  large,  heavy,  menacing,  combative, 
sombre,  honest  countenance,  the  same  deep  inevitable  eye,  the 
same  look,  —  as  of  thunder  asleep,  but  ready,  —  neither  a  dog 
nor  a  man  to  be  trifled  with. 

Next  day,  my  master,  the  surgeon,  examined  Ailie.  There 
was  no  doubt  it  must  kill  her,  and  soon.  It  could  be  removed 
—  it  might  never  return  —  it  would  give  her  speedy  relief  — 
she  should  have  it  done.  She  curtsied,  looked  at  James,  and 
said,  "  When  ? "  "  To-morrow,"  said  the  kind  surgeon  —  a 
man  of  few  words.  She  and  James  and  Rab  and  I  retired.  I 
noticed  that  he  and  she  spoke  little,  but  seemed  to  anticipate 
everything  in  each  other.  The  following  day,  at  noon,  the  stu- 
dents came  in,  hurrying  up  the  great  stair.  At  the  first  landing- 
place,  on  a  small  well-known  blackboard,  was  a  bit  of  paper 
fastened  by  wafers  and  many  remains  of  old  wafers  beside  it. 
On  the  paper  were  the  words,  —  "  An  operation  to-day.  J.  B. 
Clerk." 

Up  ran  the  youths,  eager  to  secure  good  places  ;  in  they 
crowded,  full  of  interest  and  talk.  "  What 's  the  case  ? "  "  Which 
side  is  it  ?  " 

Don't  think  them  heartless ;  they  are  neither  better  nor  worse 
than  you  or  I ;  they  get  over  their  professional  horrors,  and 
into  their  proper  work  —  and  in  them  pity  —  as  an  emotion, 

1  Fuller  was,  in  early  life,  when  a  farmer  lad  at  Soham,  famous  as  a 
boxer ;  not  quarrelsome,  but  not  without  "  the  stern  delight "  a  man  of 
strength  and  courage  feels  in  their  exercise.  Dr.  Charles  Stewart,  of 
Dunearn,  whose  rare  gifts  and  graces  as  a  physician,  a  divine,  a  scholar, 
and  a  gentleman,  live  only  in  the  memory  of  those  few  who  knew  and 
survive  him,  liked  to  tell  how  Mr.  Fuller  used  to  say,  that  when  he  was 
in  the  pulpit,  and  saw  a  buirdly  man  come  along  the  passage,  he  would 
instinctively  draw  himself  up,  measure  his  imaginary  antagonist,  and 
forecast  how  he  would  deal  with  him,  his  hands  meanwhile  condensing 
into  fists,  and  tending  to  "  square."  He  must  have  been  a  hard  hitter  if 
he  boxed  as  he  preached  —  what  "The  Fancy  "  would  call  "  an  ugly 
customer." 


RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  183 

ending  in  itself  or  at  best  in  tears  and  a  long-drawn  breath  — 
lessens,  while  pity  as  a  motive  is  quickened,  and  gains  power 
and  purpose.  It  is  well  for  poor  human  nature  that  it  is  so. 

The  operating  theatre  is  crowded ;  much  talk  and  fun,  and  all 
the  cordiality  and  stir  of  youth.  The  surgeon  with  his  staff  of 
assistants  is  there.  In  comes  Ailie :  one  look  at  her  quiets  and 
abates  the  eager  students.  That  beautiful  old  woman  is  too 
much  for  them ;  they  sit  down,  and  are  dumb,  and  gaze  at  her. 
These  rough  boys  feel  the  power  of  her  presence.  She  walks 
in  quickly,  but  without  haste ;  dressed  in  her  mutch,  her  necker- 
chief, her  white  dimity  short-gown,  her  black  bombazine  petti- 
coat, showing  her  white  worsted  stockings  and  her  carpet-shoes. 
Behind  her  was  James  with  Rab.  James  sat  down  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  took  that  huge  and  noble  head  between  his  knees. 
Rab  looked  perplexed  and  dangerous ;  forever  cocking  his  ear 
and  dropping  it  as  fast. 

Ailie  stepped  up  on  a  seat,  and  laid  herself  on  the  table,  as 
her  friend  the  surgeon  told  her ;  arranged  herself,  gave  a  rapid 
look  at  James,  shut  her  eyes,  rested  herself  on  me,  and  took  my 
hand.  The  operation  was  at  once  begun ;  it  was  necessarily 
slow ;  and  chloroform  —  one  of  God's  best  gifts  to  his  suffering 
children  —  was  then  unknown.  The  surgeon  did  his  work.  The 
pale  face  showed  its  pain,  but  was  still  and  silent.  Rab's  soul 
was  working  within  him ;  he  saw  that  something  strange  was 
going  on,  —  blood  flowing  from  his  mistress,  and  she  suffering ; 
his  ragged  ear  was  up,  and  importunate ;  he  growled  and  gave 
now  and  then  a  sharp  impatient  yelp ;  he  would  have  liked  to 
have  done  something  to  that  man.  But  James  had  him  firm, 
and  gave  him  a  glower  from  time  to  time,  and  an  intimation  of 
a  possible  kick  ;  —  all  the  better  for  James,  it  kept  his  eye  and 
his  mind  off  Ailie. 

It  is  over:  she  is  dressed,  steps  gently  and  decently  down 
from  the  table,  looks  for  James ;  then,  turning  to  the  surgeon 


1 84  SHORT  STORIES 

and  the  students,  she  curtsies,  —  and  in  a  low,  clear  voice,  begs 
their  pardon  if  she  has  behaved  ill.  The  students  —  all  of  us  — 
wept  like  children;  the  surgeon  happed  her  up  carefully, — 
and,  resting  on  James  and  me,  Ailie  went  to  her  room,  Rab 
following.  We  put  her  to  bed.  James  took  off  his  heavy  shoes, 
crammed  with  tackets,  heel-capt,  and  toe-capt  and  put  them 
carefully  under  the  table,  saying,  "  Maister  John,  I'm  for  nane 
o'  yer  strynge  nurse  bodies  for  Ailie.  I  '11  be  her  nurse,  and 
I  '11  gang  aboot  on  my  stockin'  soles  as  canny  as  pussy."  And 
so  he  did ;  and  handy  and  clever,  and  swift  and  tender  as  any 
woman,  was  that  horny-handed,  snell,  peremptory  little  man. 
Everything  she  got  he  gave  her :  he  seldom  slept ;  and  often  I 
saw  his  small  shrewd  eyes  out  of  the  darkness,  fixed  on  her. 
As  before,  they  spoke  little. 

Rab  behaved  well,  never  moving,  showing  us  how  meek  and 
gentle  he  could  be,  and  occasionally,  in  his  sleep,  letting  us 
know  that  he  was  demolishing  some  adversary.  He  took  a  walk 
with  me  every  day,  generally  to  the  Candlemaker  Row ;  but  he 
was  sombre  and  mild ;  declined  doing  battle,  though  some  fit 
cases  offered,  and  indeed  submitted  to  sundry  indignities ;  and 
was  always  very  ready  to  turn,  and  came  faster  back,  and 
trotted  up  the  stair  with  much  lightness,  and  went  straight  to 
that  door. 

Jess,  the  mare,  had  been  sent,  with  her  weather-worn  cart, 
to  Howgate,  and  had  doubtless  her  own  dim  and  placid  medi- 
tations and  confusions,  on  the  absence  of  her  master  and  Rab, 
and  her  unnatural  freedom  from  the  road  and  her  cart 

For  some  days  Ailie  did  well.  The  wound  healed  "  by  the 
first  intention ; "  for  as  James  said,  "  Our  Ailie's  skin 's  ower 
clean  to  beil."  The  students  came  in  quiet  and  anxious,  and 
surrounded  her  bed.  She  said  she  liked  to  see  their  young, 
honest  faces.  The  surgeon  dressed  her,  and  spoke  to  her  in 
his  own  short  kind  way,  pitying  her  through  his  eyes,  Rab  and 


RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  185 

James  outside  the  circle,  —  Rab  being  now  reconciled,  and  even 
cordial,  and  having  made  up  his  mind  that  as  yet  nobody 
required  worrying,  but,  as  you  may  suppose,  semper paratus. 

So  far  well :  but,  four  days  after  the  operation,  my  patient 
had  a  sudden  and  long  shivering,  a  "  groosin',"  as  she  called  it. 
I  saw  her  soon  after;  her  eyes  were  too  bright,  her  cheek 
colored ;  she  was  restless,  and  ashamed  of  being  so ;  the  bal- 
ance was  lost ;  mischief  had  begun.  On  looking  at  the  wound, 
a  blush  of  red  told  the  secret :  her  pulse  was  rapid,  her  breath- 
ing anxious  and  quick,  she  was  n't  herself,  as  she  said,  and  was 
vexed  at  her  restlessness.  We  tried  what  we  could ;  James  did 
everything,  was  everywhere ;  never  in  the  way,  never  out  of  it ; 
Rab  subsided  under  the  table  into  a  dark  place,  and  was  motion- 
less, all  but  his  eye,  which  followed  every  one.  Ailie  got  worse ; 
began  to  wander  in  her  mind,  gently ;  was  more  demonstrative 
in  her  ways  to  James,  rapid  in  her  questions,  and  sharp  at 
times.  He  was  vexed,  and  said,  "  She  was  never  that  way 
afore ;  no,  never."  For  a  time  she  knew  her  head  was  wrong, 
and  was  always  asking  our  pardon  —  the  dear,  gentle  old 
woman  :  then  delirium  set  in  strong,  without  pause.  Her  brain 
gave  way,  and  then  came  that  terrible  spectacle,  — 

The  intellectual  power,  through  words  and  things, 
Went  sounding  on  its  dim  and  perilous  way, 

she  sang  bits  of  old  songs  and  Psalms,  stopping  suddenly, 
mingling  the  Psalms  of  David  and  the  diviner  words  of  his  Son 
and  Lord,  with  homely  odds  and  ends  and  scraps  of  ballads. 

Nothing  more  touching,  or  in  a  sense  more  strangely  beau- 
tiful, did  I  ever  witness.  Her  tremulous,  rapid,  affectionate, 
eager,  Scotch  voice,  —  the  swift,  aimless,  bewildered  mind,  the 
baffled  utterance,  the  bright  and  perilous  eye ;  some  wild  words, 
some  household  cares,  something  for  James,  the  names  of  the 
dead,  Rab  called  rapidly  and  in  a  "fremyt"  voice,  and  he 


1 86  SHORT  STORIES 

starting  up  surprised,  and  slinking  off  as  if  he  were  to.  blame 
somehow,  or  had  been  dreaming  he  heard ;  many  eager  ques- 
tions and  beseechings  which  James  and  I  could  make  nothing 
of,  and  on  which  she  seemed  to  set  her  all,  and  then  sink  back 
ununderstood.  It  was  very  sad,  but  better  than  many  things  that 
are  not  called  sad.  James  hovered  about,  put  out  and  miserable, 
but  active  and  exact  as  ever ;  read  to  her,  when  there  was  a  lull, 
short  bits  from  the  Psalms,  prose  and  metre,  chanting  the  latter 
in  his  own  rude  and  serious  way,  showing  great  knowledge  of  the 
fit  words,  bearing  up  like  a  man,  and  doating  over  her  as  his  "  ain 
Ailie."  "  Ailie,  ma  woman !  "  "  Ma  ain  bonnie  wee  dawtie  !  " 

The  end  was  drawing  on :  the  golden  bowl  was  breaking ; 
the  silver  cord  was  fast  being  loosed  —  that  animula  blandula, 
vagula,)  hospes,  comesque^  was  about  to  flee.  The  body  and  the 
soul  —  companions  for  sixty  years  —  were  being  sundered, 
and  taking  leave.  She  was  walking  alone,  through  the  valley 
of  that  shadow,  into  which  one  day  we  must  all  enter,  —  and 
yet  she  was  not  alone,  for  we  know  whose  rod  and  staff  were 
comforting  her. 

One  night  she  had  fallen  quiet,  and  as  we  hoped,  asleep ;  her 
eyes  were  shut.  We  put  down  the  gas,  and  sat  watching  her. 
Suddenly  she  sat  up  in  bed,  and  taking  a  bed-gown  which  was 
lying  on  it  rolled  up,  she  held  it  eagerly  to  her  breast,  —  to  the 
right  side.  We  could  see  her  eyes  bright  with  a  surprising 
tenderness  and  joy,  bending  over  this  bundle  of  clothes.  She 
held  it  as  a  woman  holds  her  sucking  child ;  opening  out  her 
night-gown  impatiently,  and  holding  it  close,  and  brooding  over 
it,  and  murmuring  foolish  little  words,  as  over  one  whom  his 
mother  comforteth,  and  who  sucks  and  is  satisfied.  It  was 
pitiful  and  strange  to  see  her  wasted  dying  look,  keen  and  yet 
vague  —  her  immense  love. 

1  "Little,  gentle,  wandering  soul,  guest  and  comrade." — Hadrian's 
"  Address  to  his  Soul  " 


RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  187 

"  Preserve  me  !  "  groaned  James,  giving  way.  And  then  she 
rocked  back  and  forward,  as  if  to  make  it  sleep,  hushing  it, 
and  wasting  on  it  her  infinite  fondness.  "  Wae  's  me,  doctor ;  I 
declare  she 's  thinkin'  it 's  that  bairn."  "  What  bairn  ? "  "  The 
only  bairn  we  ever  had ;  our  wee  Mysie,  and  she  's  in  the  King- 
dom, forty  years  and  mair."  It  was  plainly  true :  the  pain  in 
the  breast,  telling  its  urgent  story  to  a  bewildered,  ruined  brain, 
was  misread  and  mistaken ;  it  suggested  to  her  the  uneasiness 
of  a  breast  full  of  milk,  and  then  the  child ;  and  so  again  once 
more  they  were  together,  and  she  had  her  ain  wee  Mysie  in 
her  bosom. 

This  was  the  close.  She  sank  rapidly :  the  delirium  left  her ; 
but,  as  she  whispered,  she  was  "clean  silly;"  it  was  the  lightening 
before  the  final  darkness.  After  having  for  some  time  lain  still 

—  her  eyes  shut,  she  said  "  James  I "    He  came  close  to  her, 
and  lifting  up  her  calm,  clear,  beautiful  eyes,  she  gave  him  a 
long  look,  turned  to  me  kindly  but  shortly,  looked  for  Rab  but 
could  not  see  him,  then  turned  to  her  husband  again,  as  if  she 
would  never  leave  off  looking,  shut  her  eyes,  and  composed 
herself.    She  lay  for  some  time  breathing  quick,  and  passed 
away  so  gently  that,  when  we  thought  she  was  gone,  James,  in 
his  old-fashioned  way,  held  the  mirror  to  her  face.    After  a  long 
pause,  one  small  spot  of  dimness  was  breathed  out ;  it  vanished 
away,  and  never  returned,  leaving  the  blank  clear  darkness  of 
the  mirror  without  a  stain.  "  What  is  our  life  ?  it  is  even  a  vapor, 
which  appeareth  for  a  little  time,  and  then  vanisheth  away." 

Rab  all  this  time  had  been  full  awake  and  motionless;  he 
came  forward  beside  us :  Ailie's  hand,  which  James  had  held, 
was  hanging  down ;  it  was  soaked  with  his  tears ;  Rab  licked  it 
all  over  carefully,  looked  at  her,  and  returned  to  his  place  under 
the  table. 

James  and  I  sat,  I  don't  know  how  long,  but  for  some  time, 

—  saying  nothing  :  he  started  up  abruptly,  and  with  some  noise 


1 88  SHORT  STORIES 

went  to  the  table,  and  putting  his  right  fore  and  middle  fingers 
each  into  a  shoe,  pulled  them  out,  and  put  them  on,  breaking 
one  of  the  leather  latchets,  and  muttering  in  anger,  "  I  never 
did  the  like  o'  that  afore ! " 

I  believe  he  never  did ;  nor  after  either.  "  Rab  1 "  he  said 
roughly,  and  pointing  with  his  thumb  to  the  bottom  of  the  bed. 
Rab  leapt  up,  and  settled  himself;  his  head  and  eye  to  the 
dead  face.  "  Maister  John,  ye  '11  wait  for  me,"  said  the 
carrier;  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness,  thundering  down- 
stairs in  his  heavy  shoes.  I  ran  to  a  front  window;  there  he 
was,  already  round  the  house,  and  out  at  the  gate,  fleeing  like 
a  shadow. 

I  was  afraid  about  him,  and  yet  not  afraid ;  so  I  sat  down 
beside  Rab,  and  being  wearied,  fell  asleep.  I  awoke  from  a 
sudden  noise  outside.  It  was  November,  and  there  had  been  a 
heavy  fall  of  snow.  Rab  was  in  statu  quo  ;  he  heard  the  noise 
too,  and  plainly  knew  it,  but  never  moved.  I  looked  out ;  and 
there,  at  the  gate,  in  the  dim  morning  —  for  the  sun  was  not 
up  —  was  Jess  and  the  cart,  —  a  cloud  of  steam  rising  from  the 
old  mare.  I  did  not  see  James ;  he  was  already  at  the  door, 
and  came  up  the  stairs,  and  met  me.  It  was  less  than  three 
hours  since  he  left,  and  he  must  have  posted  out  —  who  knows 
how  ?  —  to  Howgate,  full  nine  miles  off ;  yoked  Jess,  and  driven 
her  astonished  into  town.  He  had  an  armful  of  blankets,  and 
was  streaming  with  perspiration.  He  nodded  to  me,  spread  out 
on  the  floor  two  pairs  of  clean  old  blankets  having  at  their 
corners,  "  A.G.,  1794,"  in  large  letters  in  red  worsted.  These 
were  the  initials  of  Alison  Graeme,  and  James  may  have  looked 
in  at  her  from  without  —  himself  unseen  but  not  un thought  of 
—  when  he  was  "  wat,  wat,  and  weary,"  and  after  having 
walked  many  a  mile  over  the  hills,  may  have  seen  her  sitting, 
while  "  a'  the  lave  were  sleepin' ;  "  and  by  the  firelight  working 
her  name  on  the  blankets,  for  her  ain  James's  bed. 


RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  189 

He  motioned  Rab  down,  and  taking  his  wife  in  his  arms, 
laid  her  in  the  blankets,  and  happed  her  carefully  and  firmly 
up,  leaving  the  face  uncovered  ;  and  then  lifting  her,  he  nodded 
again  sharply  to  me,  and  with  a  resolved  but  utterly  miserable 
face,  strode  along  the  passage,  and  down-stairs,  followed  by 
Rab.  I  followed  with  a  light;  but  he  didn't  need  it.  I  went 
out,  holding  stupidly  the  candle  in  my  hand  in  the  calm  frosty 
air ;  we  were  soon  at  the  gate.  I  could  have  helped  him,  but 
I  saw  he  was  not  to  be  meddled  with,  and  he  was  strong,  and 
did  not  need  it.  He  laid  her  down  as  tenderly,  as  safely,  as  he 
had  lifted  her  out  ten  days  before  —  as  tenderly  as  when  he 
had  her  first  in  his  arms  when  she  was  only  "  A.  G.,"  —  sorted 
her,  leaving  that  beautiful  sealed  face  open  to  the  heavens; 
and  then  taking  Jess  by  the  head,  he  moved  away.  He  did  not 
notice  me,  neither  did  Rab,  who  presided  behind  the  cart. 

I  stood  till  they  passed  through  the  long  shadow  of  the  Col- 
lege, and  turned  up  Nicolson  Street.  I  heard  the  solitary  cart 
sound  through  the  streets,  and  die  away  and  come  again ;  and 
I  returned,  thinking  of  that  company  going  up  Libberton  Brae, 
then  along  Roslin  Muir,  the  morning  light  touching  the  Pent- 
lands  and  making  them  like  on-looking  ghosts,  then  down  the 
hill  through  Auchindinny  woods,  past  "  haunted  Woodhouse- 
lee ; "  and  as  daybreak  came  sweeping  up  the  bleak  Lammer- 
muirs,  and  fell  on  his  own  door,  the  company  would  stop,  and 
James  would  take  the  key,  and  lift  Ailie  up  again,  laying  her 
on  her  own  bed,  and,  having  put  Jess  up,  would  return  with 
Rab  and  shut  the  door. 

James  buried  his  wife,  with  his  neighbors  mourning,  Rab  in- 
specting the  solemnity  from  a  distance.  It  was  snow,  and  that 
black  ragged  hole  would  look  strange  in  the  midst  of  the  swell- 
ing spotless  cushion  of  white.  James  looked  after  everything; 
then  rather  suddenly  fell  ill,  and  took  to  bed ;  was  insensible 
when  the  doctor  came,  and  soon  died.  A  sort  of  low  fever  was 


SHORT  STORIES 

prevailing  in  the  village,  and  his  want  of  sleep,  his  exhaustion, 
and  his  misery  made  him  apt  to  take  it.  The  grave  was  not 
difficult  to  reopen.  A  fresh  fall  of  snow  had  again  made  all 
things  white  and  smooth;  Rab  once  more  looked  on,  and  slunk 
home  to  the  stable. 

And  what  of  Rab  ?  I  asked  for  him  next  week  of  the  new 
carrier  who  got  the  goodwill  of  James's  business,  and  was  now 
master  of  Jess  and  her  cart.  "  How 's  Rab  ? "  He  put  me  off, 
and  said  rather  rudely,  "  What  's  your  business  wi'  the  dowg  ? " 
I  was  not  to  be  so  put  off.  "  Where 's  Rab  ? "  He,  getting  con- 
fused and  red,  and  intermeddling  with  his  hair,  said,  "  'Deed, 
sir,  Rab 's  deid."  "  Dead !  what  did  he  die  of  ? "  "  Weel,  sir," 
said  he,  getting  redder,  "  he  did  na  exactly  dee ;  he  was  killed. 
I  had  to  brain  him  wi'  a  rack-pin ;  there  was  nae  doin'  wi'  him. 
He  lay  in  the  treviss  wi'  the  mear,  and  wad  na  come  oot.  I 
tempit  him  wi'  kail  and  meat,  but  he  wad  tak  naething,  and 
keepit  me  frae  feedin'  the  beast,  and  he  was  aye  gur  gurrin', 
and  grup  gruppin'  me  by  the  legs.  I  was  laith  to  make  awa 
wi'  the  auld  dowg,  his  like  was  na  atween  this  and  Thomhill,  — 
but,  'deed,  sir,  I  could  do  naething  else."  I  believed  him.  Fit 
end  for  Rab,  quick  and  complete.  His  teeth  and  his  friends 
gone,  why  should  he  keep  the  peace,  and  be  civil? 


VIII.  THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER 
FLAT1  (1869) 

BY  BRET  HARTE  (1836-1902) 

{Setting.  The  group  tragedy  enacted  in  this  story  took  place 
between  November  23  and  December  7,  1850,  on  the  road 
from  Poker  Flat  to  Sandy  Bar,  in  Sierra  County,  California. 
The  time  and  place  are  those  that  Bret  Harte  has  made  pecul- 
iarly his  own.  The  austerity  and  wildness  of  the  scenery  seem 
somehow  to  favor  the  intimate  revelation  of  character  that  the 
story  displays.  There  is  no  intervention  of  cities,  crops,  fashions, 
or  conventions  between  the  different  members  of  the  character 
group  or  between  the  group  as  a  whole  and  the  reader.  All  is 
bare  like  a  white  mountain  peak.  Notice  also  how  the  back- 
ground of  a  common  peril  draws  the  characters  together  and 
brings  out  at  last  the  best  in  each. 

Plot.  The  story  sets  forth  and  interprets  a  dramatic  situation. 
The  plot  is  staged  so  as  to  answer  the  question,  "  Do  not  the 
people  whom  society  regards  as  outcasts  have  yet  some  redeem- 
ing virtue  ? "  Notice  especially  how  a  sense  of  common  fellow- 
ship is  developed  in  these  outcasts.  First,  they  are  subjected 
to  a  common  humiliation  in  being  driven  from  Poker  Flat  by 
persons  whom  the  outcasts  consider  no  whit  better  than  them- 
selves. Next,  they  are  exposed  to  a  common  danger,  a  danger 
that  leads  the  stronger  to  care  instinctively  for  the  weaker, 
and  the  weaker  to  recognize  that  it  is  nobler  to  give  than  to 
receive.  At  last,  in  the  unexpected  entrance  of  the  innocent 
Tom  Simson  and  the  guileless  Piney  Woods,  the  outcasts  find 

1  Used  by  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  publishers  of  Bret  Harte's  Works. 

191 


192  SHORT  STORIES 

a  common  challenge  to  the  native  goodness  that  had  long  lain 
dormant  within  them.  Innocence  and  guilelessness  may  be 
laughed  at,  as  they  are  here,  but  their  appeal  is  often  stronger 
than  the  appeal  of  disciplined  virtue  or  of  self-conscious  supe- 
riority. When  Bret  Harte  was  charged  with  confusing  the 
boundary  lines  of  vice  and  virtue  he  replied  that  his  plots  "  con- 
formed to  the  rules  laid  down  by  a  Great  Poet  who  created  the 
parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son  and  the  Good  Samaritan." 

Characters.  Oakhurst,  who  is  always  called  "Mr."  Oakhurst, 
is  of  course  the  dominant  character.  The  story  begins  with  him 
and  ends  with  him.  He  is  "  the  strongest  and  yet  the  weakest 
of  the  outcasts  of  Poker  Flat,"  —  strong  while  there  was  any^ 
thing  to  be  done,  weak  even  to  suicide  when  he  had  only  to 
wait  for  the  inevitable  end.  He  was  a  brave,  desperate,  solitary 
man,  whose  thought  and  speech  and  action,  however,  were 
always  those  of  the  professional  gambler.  Bret  Harte,  who  has 
put  him  into  several  stories,  says  of  him  in  another  place:  "Go 
where  he  would  and  with  whom,  he  was  always  a  notable  man 
in  ten  thousand."  The  admiration  that  we  yield  to  such  a 
man,  though  it  is  only  a  qualified  admiration,  is  doubtless  the 
admiration  of  power  which,  we  cannot  help  thinking,  might 
be  used  beneficently  if  it  could  only  be  harnessed  to  a  noble 
cause. 

But  if  Oakhurst  is  the  dominant  character,  Piney  Woods  is, 
I  think,  the  central  character.  She  is  central  in  this  story  just 
as  little  Aglai'a  is  central  in  Tennyson's  "  Princess,"  or  Eppie 
in  George  Eliot's  "  Silas  Marner,"  or  the  baby  offspring  of 
Cherokee  Sal  in  "  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp."  Bret  Harte 
had  just  written  the  last-named  story  when  he  began  the  com- 
position of  "The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat."  The  same  great 
theme,  the  radiating  and  redeeming  power  of  innocence  and 
purity,  was  carried  over  from  the  first  story  to  the  second.  The 
ministry  of  the  baby  and  the  ministry  of  the  fifteen-year-old 
bride  is  the  same  in  both.  Like  the  Great  Stone  Face  in  Haw- 
thorne's story  or  like  little  Pippa  in  Browning's  poem,  they 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT  193 

awaken  the  better  nature  of  those  about  them.  They  restore 
hopes  that  had  become  but  memories  and  memories  that  had 
almost  ceased  to  be  hopes.] 


As  Mr.  John  Oakhurst,  gambler,  stepped  into  the  main  street 
of  Poker  Flat  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-third  of  November, 
1850,  he  was  conscious  of  a  change  in  its  moral  atmosphere 
since  the  preceding  night.  Two  or  three  men,  conversing 
earnestly  together,  ceased  as  he  approached,  and  exchanged 
significant  glances.  There  was  a  Sabbath  lull  in  the  air, 
which,  in  a  settlement  unused  to  Sabbath  influences,  looked 
ominous. 

Mr.  Oakhurst's  calm,  handsome  face  betrayed  small  concern 
in  these  indications.  Whether  he  was  conscious  of  any  predis- 
posing cause,  was  another  question.  "  I  reckon  they  're  after 
somebody,"  he  reflected ;  "  likely  it 's  me."  He  returned  to  his 
pocket  the  handkerchief  with  which  he  had  been  whipping  away 
the  red  dust  of  Poker  Flat  from  his  neat  boots,  and  quietly 
discharged  his  mind  of  any  further  conjecture. 

In  point  of  fact,  Poker  Flat  was  "  after  somebody."  It  had 
lately  suffered  the  loss  of  several  thousand  dollars,  two  valuable 
horses,  and  a  prominent  citizen.  It  was  experiencing  a  spasm 
of  virtuous  reaction,  quite  as  lawless  and  ungovernable  as  any 
of  the  acts  that  had  provoked  it.  A  secret  committee  had 
determined  to  rid  the  town  of  all  improper  persons.  This  was 
done  permanently  in  regard  of  two  men  who  were  then  hang- 
ing from  the  boughs  of  a  sycamore  in  the  gulch,  and  tempo- 
rarily in  the  banishment  of  certain  other  objectionable  characters. 
I  regret  to  say  that  some  of  these  were  ladies.  It  is  but  due 
to  the  sex,  however,  to  state  that  their  impropriety  was  pro- 
fessional, and  it  was  only  in  such  easily  established  standards  of 
evil  that  Poker  Flat  ventured  to  sit  in  judgment. 


194  SHORT   STORIES 

Mr.  Oakhurst  was  right  in  supposing  that  he  was  included 
in  this  category.  A  few  of  the  committee  had  urged  hanging 
him  as  a  possible  example,  and  a  sure  method  of  reimbursing 
themselves  from  his  pockets  of  the  sums  he  had  won  from 
them.  "  It 's  agin  justice,"  said  Jim  Wheeler,  "  to  let  this  yer 
young  man  from  Roaring  Camp  —  an  entire  stranger  —  carry 
away  our  money."  But  a  crude  sentiment  of  equity  residing 
in  the  breasts  of  those  who  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  win 
from  Mr.  Oakhurst  overruled  this  narrower  local  prejudice. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  received  his  sentence  with  philosophic  calm- 
ness, none  the  less  coolly  that  he  was  aware  of  the  hesitation  of 
his  judges.  He  was  too  much  of  a  gambler  not  to  accept  Fate. 
With  him  life  was  at  best  an  uncertain  game,  and  he  recognized 
the  usual  percentage  in  favor  of  the  dealer. 

A  body  of  armed  men  accompanied  the  deported  wicked- 
ness of  Poker  Flat  to  the  outskirts  of  the  settlement.  Besides 
Mr.  Oakhurst,  who  was  known  to  be  a  coolly  desperate  man, 
and  for  whose  intimidation  the  armed  escort  was  intended,  the 
expatriated  party  consisted  of  a  young  woman  familiarly  known 
as  "  The  Duchess  " ;  another,  who  had  won  the  title  of  "  Mother 
Shipton " ;  and  "  Uncle  Billy,"  a  suspected  sluice-robber  and 
confirmed  drunkard.  The  cavalcade  provoked  no  comments 
from  the  spectators,  nor  was  any  word  uttered  by  the  escort 
Only,  when  the  gulch  which  marked  the  uttermost  limit  of 
Poker  Flat  was  reached,  the  leader  spoke  briefly  and  to  the 
point.  The  exiles  were  forbidden  to  return  at  the  peril  of 
their  lives. 

As  the  escort  disappeared,  their  pent-up  feelings  found  vent 
in  a  few  hysterical  tears  from  the  Duchess,  some  bad  language 
from  Mother  Shipton,  and  a  Parthian  volley  of  expletives  from 
Uncle  Billy.  The  philosophic  Oakhurst  alone  remained  silent. 
He  listened  calmly  to  Mother  Shipton 's  desire  to  cut  somebody's 
heart  out,  to  the  repeated  statements  of  the  Duchess  that  she 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT  195 

would  die  in  the  road,  and  to  the  alarming  oaths  that  seemed 
to  be  bumped  out  of  Uncle  Billy  as  he  rode  forward.  With  the 
easy  good-humor  characteristic  of  his  class,  he  insisted  upon 
exchanging  his  own  riding-horse, "  Five  Spot,"  for  the  sorry  mule 
which  the  Duchess  rode.  But  even  this  act  did  not  draw  the 
party  into  any  closer  sympathy.  The  young  woman  readjusted 
her  somewhat  draggled  plumes  with  a  feeble,  faded  coquetry ; 
Mother  Shipton  eyed  the  possessor  of  "  Five  Spot "  with 
malevolence,  and  Uncle  Billy  included  the  whole  party  in  one 
sweeping  anathema. 

The  road  to  Sandy  Bar  —  a  camp  that,  not  having  as  yet 
experienced  the  regenerating  influences  of  Poker  Flat,  conse- 
quently seemed  to  offer  some  invitation  to  the  emigrants  —  lay 
over  a  steep  mountain  range.  It  was  distant  a  day's  severe 
travel.  In  that  advanced  season,  the  party  soon  passed  out  of 
the  moist,  temperate  regions  of  the  foot-hills  into  the  dry,  cold, 
bracing  air  of  the  Sierras.  The  trail  was  narrow  and  difficult. 
At  noon  the  Duchess,  rolling  out  of  her  saddle  upon  the 
ground,  declared  her  intention  of  going  no  farther,  and  the 
party  halted. 

The  spot  was  singularly  wild  and  impressive.  A  wooded 
amphitheatre,  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  precipitous  cliffs  of 
naked  granite,  sloped  gently  toward  the  crest  of  another  preci- 
pice that  overlooked  the  valley.  It  was,  undoubtedly,  the  most 
suitable  spot  for  a  camp,  had  camping  been  advisable.  But 
Mr.  Oakhurst  knew  that  scarcely  half  the  journey  to  Sandy 
Bar  was  accomplished,  and  the  party  were  not  equipped  or 
provisioned  for  delay.  This  fact  he  pointed  out  to  his  compan- 
ions curtly,  with  a  philosophic  commentary  on  the  folly  of 
"  throwing  up  their  hand  before  the  game  was  played  out." 
But  they  were  furnished  with  liquor,  which  in  this  emergency 
stood  them  in  place  of  food,  fuel,  rest,  and  prescience.  In 
spite  of  his  remonstrances,  it  was  not  long  before  they  were 


196  SHORT  STORIES 

more  or  less  under  its  influence.  Uncle  Billy  passed  rapidly 
from  a  bellicose  state  into  one  of  stupor,  the  Duchess  became 
maudlin,  and  Mother  Shipton  snored.  Mr.  Oakhurst  alone 
remained  erect,  leaning  against  a  rock,  calmly  surveying  them. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  did  not  drink.  It  interfered  with  a  profession 
which  required  coolness,  impassiveness,  and  presence  of  mind, 
and,  in  his  own  language,  he  "  could  n't  afford  it."  As  he  gazed 
at  his  recumbent  fellow-exiles,  the  loneliness  begotten  of  his 
pariah-trade,  his  habits  of  life,  his  very  vices,  for  the  first  time 
seriously  oppressed  him.  He  bestirred  himself  in  dusting  his 
black  clothes,  washing  his  hands  and  face,  and  other  acts  char- 
acteristic of  his  studiously  neat  habits,  and  for  a  moment  forgot 
his  annoyance.  The  thought  of  deserting  his  weaker  and  more 
pitiable  companions  never  perhaps  occurred  to  him.  Yet  he 
could  not  help  feeling  the  want  of  that  excitement  which,  singu- 
larly enough,  was  most  conducive  to  that  calm  equanimity  for 
which  he  was  notorious.  He  looked  at  the  gloomy  walls  that 
rose  a  thousand  feet  sheer  above  the  circling  pines  around  him  ; 
at  the  sky,  ominously  clouded;  at  the  valley  below,  already 
deepening  into  shadow.  And,  doing  so,  suddenly  he  heard  his 
own  name  called. 

A  horseman  slowly  ascended  the  trail.  In  the  fresh,  open 
face  of  the  new-comer  Mr.  Oakhurst  recognized  Tom  Simson, 
otherwise  known  as  "  The  Innocent "  of  Sandy  Bar.  He  had 
met  him  some  months  before  over  a  "  little  game,"  and  had, 
with  perfect  equanimity,  won  the  entire  fortune  —  amounting 
to  some  forty  dollars  —  of  that  guileless  youth.  After  the  game 
was  finished,  Mr.  Oakhurst  drew  the  youthful  speculator  behind 
the  door  and  thus  addressed  him:  "Tommy,  you're  a  good 
little  man,  but  you  can't  gamble  worth  a  cent  Don't  try  it 
over  again."  He  then  handed  him  his  money  back,  pushed 
him  gently  from  the  room,  and  so  made  a  devoted  slave  of 
Tom  Simson. 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT  197 

There  was  a  remembrance  of  this  in  his  boyish  and  enthusi- 
astic greeting  of  Mr.  Oakhurst.  He  had  started,  he  said,  to  go 
to  Poker  Flat  to  seek  his  fortune.  "  Alone  ? "  No,  not  exactly 
alone ;  in  fact  (a  giggle),  he  had  run  away  with  Piney  Woods. 
Didn't  Mr.  Oakhurst  remember  Piney?  She  that  used  to 
wait  on  the  table  at  the  Temperance  House  ?  They  had  been 
engaged  a  long  time,  but  old  Jake  Woods  had  objected,  and  so 
they  had  run  away,  and  were  going  to  Poker  Flat  to  be  mar- 
ried, and  here  they  were.  And  they  were  tired  out,  and  how 
lucky  it  was  they  had  found  a  place  to  camp  and  company.  All 
this  the  Innocent  delivered  rapidly,  while  Piney,  a  stout,  comely 
damsel  of  fifteen,  emerged  from  behind  the  pine-tree,  where  she 
had  been  blushing  unseen,  and  rode  to  the  side  of  her  lover. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  seldom  troubled  himself  with  sentiment,  still 
less  with  propriety ;  but  he  had  a  vague  idea  that  the  situation 
was  not  fortunate.  He  retained,  however,  his  presence  of 
mind  sufficiently  to  kick  Uncle  Billy,  who  was  about  to  say 
something,  and  Uncle  Billy  was  sober  enough  to  recognize 
in  Mr.  Oakhurst's  kick  a  superior  power  that  would  not  bear 
trifling.  He  then  endeavored  to  dissuade  Tom  Simson  from 
delaying  further,  but  in  vain.  He  even  pointed  out  the  fact 
that  there  was  no  provision,  nor  means  of  making  a  camp. 
But,  unluckily,  the  Innocent  met  this  objection  by  assuring  the 
party  that  he  was  provided  with  an  extra  mule  loaded  with 
provisions,  and  by  the  discovery  of  a  rude  attempt  at  a  log- 
house  near  the  trail.  "Piney  can  stay  with  Mrs.  Oakhurst," 
said  the  Innocent,  pointing  to  the  Duchess,  "  and  I  can  shift 
for  myself." 

Nothing  but  Mr.  Oakhurst's  admonishing  foot  saved  Uncle 
Billy  from  bursting  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  As  it  was,  he  felt 
compelled  to  retire  up  the  canon  until  he  could  recover  his 
gravity.  There  he  confided  the  joke  to  the  tall  pine-trees,  with 
many  slaps  of  his  leg,  contortions  of  his  face,  and  the  usual 


198  SHORT  STORIES 

profanity.  But  when  he  returned  to  the  party,  he  found  them 
seated  by  a  fire  —  for  the  air  had  grown  strangely  chill  and  the 
sky  overcast  —  in  apparently  amicable  conversation.  Piney  was 
actually  talking  in  an  impulsive,  girlish  fashion  to  the  Duchess, 
who  was  listening  with  an  interest  and  animation  she  had  not 
shown  for  many  days.  The  Innocent  was  holding  forth,  appar- 
ently with  equal  effect,  to  Mr.  Oakhurst  and  Mother  Shipton, 

who  was  actually  relaxing  into  amiability.  "  Is  this  yer  a  d d 

picnic  ? "  said  Uncle  Billy,  with  inward  scorn,  as  he  surveyed 
the  sylvan  group,  the  glancing  firelight,  and  the  tethered  animals 
in  the  foreground.  Suddenly  an  idea  mingled  with  the  alcoholic 
fumes  that  disturbed  his  brain.  It  was  apparently  of  a  jocular 
nature,  for  he  felt  impelled  to  slap  his  leg  again  and  cram  his 
fist  into  his  mouth. 

As  the  shadows  crept  slowly  up  the  mountain,  a  slight  breeze 
rocked  the  tops  of  the  pine-trees,  and  moaned  through  their 
long  and  gloomy  aisles.  The  ruined  cabin,  patched  and  covered 
with  pine-boughs,  was  set  apart  for  the  ladies.  As  the  lovers 
parted,  they  unaffectedly  exchanged  a  kiss,  so  honest  and  sincere 
that  it  might  have  been  heard  above  the  swaying  pines.  The 
frail  Duchess  and  the  malevolent  Mother  Shipton  were  probably 
too  stunned  to  remark  upon  this  last  evidence  of  simplicity,  and 
so  turned  without  a  word  to  the  hut.  The  fire  was  replenished, 
the  men  lay  down  before  the  door,  and  in  a  few  minutes  were 
asleep. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  was  a  light  sleeper.  Toward  morning  he 
awoke  benumbed  and  cold.  As  he  stirred  the  dying  fire,  the 
wind,  which  was  now  blowing  strongly,  brought  to  his  cheek 
that  which  caused  the  blood  to  leave  it,  —  snow ! 

He  started  to  his  feet  with  the  intention  of  awakening  the 
sleepers,  for  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  But  turning  to  where 
Uncle  Billy  had  been  lying,  he  found  him  gone.  A  suspicion 
leaped  to  his  brain  and  a  curse  to  his  lips.  He  ran  to  the  spot 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT  199 

where  the  mules  had  been  tethered ;  they  were  no  longer  there. 
The  tracks  were  already  rapidly  disappearing  in  the  snow. 

The  momentary  excitement  brought  Mr.  Oakhurst  back  to 
the  fire  with  his  usual  calm.  He  did  not  waken  the  sleepers. 
The  Innocent  slumbered  peacefully,  with  a  smile  on  his  good- 
humored,  freckled  face ;  the  virgin  Piney  slept  beside  her  frailer 
sisters  as  sweetly  as  though  attended  by  celestial  guardians,  and 
Mr.  Oakhurst,  drawing  his  blanket  over  his  shoulders,  stroked 
his  mustaches  and  waited  for  the  dawn.  It  came  slowly  in  a 
whirling  mist  of  snow-flakes,  that  dazzled  and  confused  the 
eye.  What  could  be  seen  of  the  landscape  appeared  magically 
changed.  He  looked  over  the  valley,  and  summoned  up  the 
present  and  future  in  two  words,  —  "  snowed  in !  " 

A  careful  inventory  of  the  provisions,  which,  fortunately  for 
the  party,  had  been  stored  within  the  hut,  and  so  escaped  the 
felonious  fingers  of  Uncle  Billy,  disclosed  the  fact  that  with  care 
and  prudence  they  might  last  ten  days  longer*  "  That  is,"  said 
Mr.  Oakhurst,  sotto  voce  to  the  Innocent,  "  if  you  're  willing  to 
board  us.  If  you  ain't  —  and  perhaps  you  'd  better  not  —  you 
can  wait  till  Uncle  Billy  gets  back  with  provisions."  For  some 
occult  reason,  Mr.  Oakhurst  could  not  bring  himself  to  disclose 
Uncle  Billy's  rascality,  and  so  offered  the  hypothesis  that  he  had 
wandered  from  the  camp  and  had  accidentally  stampeded  the 
animals.  He  dropped  a  warning  to  the  Duchess  and  Mother 
Shipton,  who  of  course  knew  the  facts  of  their  associate's  defec- 
tion. "  They  '11  find  out  the  truth  about  us  all  when  they  find 
out  anything,"  he  added,  significantly,  "  and  there  Js  no  good 
frightening  them  now." 

Tom  Simson  not  only  put  all  his  worldly  store  at  the  disposal 
of  Mr.  Oakhurst,  but  seemed  to  enjoy  the  prospect  of  their 
enforced  seclusion.  "  We  '11  have  a  good  camp  for  a  week,  and 
then  the  snow '11  melt,  and  we'll  all  go  back  together."  The 
cheerful  gayety  of  the  young  man,  and  Mr.  Oakhurst's  cairn 


200  SHORT   STORIES 

infected  the  others.  The  Innocent,  with  the  aid  of  pine-boughs, 
extemporized  a  thatch  for  the  roofless  cabin,  and  the  Duchess 
directed  Piney  in  the  rearrangement  of  the  interior  with  a  taste 
and  tact  that  opened  the  blue  eyes  of  that  provincial  maiden  to 
their  fullest  extent.  "  I  reckon  now  you  're  used  to  fine  things 
at  Poker  Flat,"  said  Piney.  The  Duchess  turned  away  sharply 
to  conceal  something  that  reddened  her  cheeks  through  its  pro- 
fessional tint,  and  Mother  Shipton  requested  Piney  not  to 
"  chatter."  But  when  Mr.  Oakhurst  returned  from  a  weary 
search  for  the  trail,  he  heard  the  sound  of  happy  laughter  echoed 
from  the  rocks.  He  stopped  in  some  alarm,  and  his  thoughts 
first  naturally  reverted  to  the  whiskey,  which  he  had  prudently 
cached.  "  And  yet  it  don't  somehow  sound  like  whiskey,"  said 
the  gambler.  It  was  not  until  he  caught  sight  of  the  blazing 
fire  through  the  still  blinding  storm  and  the  group  around  it 
that  he  settled  to  the  conviction  that  it  was  "•  square  fun." 

Whether  Mr.  Oakhurst  had  cached  his  cards  with  the  whiskey 
as  something  debarred  the  free  access  of  the  community,  I  can- 
not say.  It  was  certain  that,  in  Mother  Shipton's  words,  he 
"  did  n't  say  cards  once  "  during  that  evening.  Haply  the  time 
was  beguiled  by  an  accordion,  produced  somewhat  ostentatiously 
by  Tom  Simson  from  his  pack.  Notwithstanding  some  difficul- 
ties attending  the  manipulation  of  his  instrument,  Piney  Woods 
managed  to  pluck  several  reluctant  melodies  from  its  keys,  to 
an  accompaniment  by  the  Innocent  on  a  pair  of  bone  castanets. 
But  the  crowning  festivity  of  the  evening  was  reached  in  a  rude 
camp-meeting  hymn,  which  the  lovers,  joining  hands,  sang  with 
great  earnestness  and  vociferation.  I  fear  that  a  certain  defiant 
tone  and  Covenanter's  swing  to  its  chorus,  rather  than  any 
devotional  quality,  caused  it  speedily  to  infect  the  others,  who 
at  last  joined  in  the  refrain :  — 

"  I'm  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  the  Lord, 
And  I'm  bound  to  die  in  His  army." 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT  2OI 

The  pines  rocked,  the  storm  eddied  and  whirled  above  the 
miserable  group,  and  the  flames  of  their  altar  leaped  heaven- 
ward, as  if  in  token  of  the  vow. 

At  midnight  the  storm  abated,  the  rolling  clouds  parted,  and 
the  stars  glittered  keenly  above  the  sleeping  camp.  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst,  whose  professional  habits  had  enabled  him  to  live  on  the 
smallest  possible  amount  of  sleep,  in  dividing  the  watch  with 
Tom '.  Simson,  somehow  managed  to  take  upon  himself  the 
greater  part  of  that  duty.  He  excused  himself  to  the  Innocent, 
by  saying  that  he  had  "often  been  a  week  without  sleep." 
"Doing  what?"  asked  Tom.  "Poker.!"  replied  Oakhurst, 
sententiously ;  "  when  a  man  gets  a  streak  of  luck,  —  nigger- 
luck, —  he  don't  get  tired.  The  luck  gives  in  first.  Luck," 
continued  the  gambler,  reflectively,  "  is  a  mighty  queer  thing. 
All  you  know  about  it  for  certain  is  that  it  Js  bound  to  change. 
And  it 's  finding  out  when  it 's  going  to  change  that  makes  you. 
We  've  had  a  streak  of  bad  luck  since  we  left  Poker  Flat,  —  you 
come  along,  and  slap  you  get  into  it,  too.  If  you  can  hold  your 
cards  right  along,  you're  all  right  For,"  added  the  gambler, 
with  cheerful  irrelevance, — 

"  I'm  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  the  Lord, 
And  I'm  bound  to  die  in  His  army." 

The  third  day  came,  and  the  sun,  looking  through  the  white- 
curtained  valley,  saw  the  outcasts  divide  their  slowly  decreasing 
store  of  provisions  for  the  morning  meal.  It  was  one  of  the 
peculiarities  of  that  mountain  climate  that  its  rays  diffused  a 
kindly  warmth  over  the  wintry  landscape,  as  if  in  regretful 
commiseration  of  the  past.  But  it  revealed  drift  on  drift  of  snow 
piled  high  around  the  hut,  —  a  hopeless,  uncharted,  trackless 
sea  of  white  lying  below  the  rocky  shores  to  which  the  cast- 
aways still  clung.  Through  the  marvellously  clear  air  the 
smoke  of  the  pastoral  village  of  Poker  Flat  rose  miles  away. 


202  SHORT   STORIES 

Mother  Shipton  saw  it,  and  from  a  remote  pinnacle  of  her 
rocky  fastness,  hurled  in  that  direction  a  final  malediction.  It 
was  her  last  vituperative  attempt,  and  perhaps  for  that  reason 
was  invested  with  a  certain  degree  of  sublimity.  It  did  her 
good,  she  privately  informed  the  Duchess.  "Just  you  go  out 
there  and  cuss,  and  see."  She  then  set  herself  to  the  task  of 
amusing  "  the  child,"  as  she  and  the  Duchess  were  pleased  to 
call  Piney.  Piney  was  no  chicken,  but  it  was  a  soothing  and 
original  theory  of  the  pair  thus  to  account  for  the  fact  that 
she  didn't  swear  and  wasn't  improper. 

When  night  crept  up  again  through  the  gorges,  the  reedy 
notes  of  the  accordion  rose  and  fell  in  fitful  spasms  and  long- 
drawn  gasps  by  the  flickering  camp-fire.  But  music  failed  to  fill 
entirely  the  aching  void  left  by  insufficient  food,  and  a  new 
diversion  was  proposed  by  Piney,  —  story-telling.  Neither  Mr. 
Oakhurst  nor  his  female  companions  caring  to  relate  their  per- 
sonal experiences,  this  plan  would  have  failed,  too,  but  for  the 
Innocent.  Some  months  before  he  had  chanced  upon  a  stray 
copy  of  Mr.  Pope's  ingenious  translation  of  the  Iliad.  He  now 
proposed  to  narrate  the  principal  incidents  of  that  poem  — 
having  thoroughly  mastered  the  argument  and  fairly  forgotten 
the  words  —  in  the  current  vernacular  of  Sandy  Bar.  And  so 
for  the  rest  of  that  night  the  Homeric  demigods  again  walked 
the  earth.  Trojan  bully  and  wily  Greek  wrestled  in  the  winds, 
and  the  great  pines  in  the  canon  seemed  to  bow  to  the  wrath 
of  the  son  of  Peleus.  Mr.  Oakhurst  listened  with  quiet  satis- 
faction. Most  especially  was  he  interested  in  the  fate  of 
"  Ash-heels,"  as  the  Innocent  persisted  in  denominating  the 
"  swift-footed  Achilles." 

So  with  small  food  and  much  of  Homer  and  the  accordion, 
a  week  passed  over  the  heads  of  the  outcasts.  The  sun  again 
forsook  them,  and  again  from  leaden  skies  the  snow-flakes  were 
sifted  over  the  land.  Day  by  day  closer  around  them  drew  the 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT  203 

snowy  circle,  until  at  last  they  looked  from  their  prison  over 
drifted  walls  of  dazzling  white,  that  towered  twenty  feet  above 
their  heads.  It  became  more  and  more  difficult  to  replenish 
their  fires,  even  from  the  fallen  trees  beside  them,  now  half 
hidden  in  the  drifts.  And  yet  no  one  complained.  The  lovers 
turned  from  the  dreary  prospect  and  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes,  and  were  happy.  Mr.  Oakhurst  settled  himself  coolly  to 
the  losing  game  before  him.  The  Duchess,  more  cheerful  than 
she  had  been,  assumed  the  care  of  Piney.  Only  Mother  Shipton 
—  once  the  strongest  of  the  party — seemed  to  sicken  and  fade. 
At  midnight  on  the  tenth  day  she  called  Oakhurst  to  her  side. 
"I'm  going,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  of  querulous  weakness,  " but 
don't  say  anything  about  it.  Don't  waken  the  kids.  Take  the 
bundle  from  under  my  head  and  open  it."  Mr.  Oakhurst  did  so. 
It  contained  Mother  Shipton's  rations  for  the  last  week,  un- 
touched. "  Give  'em  to  the  child,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  sleep- 
ing Piney.  "  You  've  starved  yourself,"  said  the  gambler.  "  That 's 
what  they  call  it,"  said  the  woman,  querulously,  as  she  lay  down 
again,  and,  turning  her  face  to  the  wall,  passed  quietly  away. 

The  accordion  and  the  bones  were  put  aside  that  day,  and 
Homer  was  forgotten.  When  the  body  of  Mother  Shipton  had 
been  committed  to  the  snow,  Mr.  Oakhurst  took  the  Innocent 
aside,  and  showed  him  a  pair  of  snow-shoes,  which  he  had 
fashioned  from  the  old  pack-saddle.  "  There 's  one  chance  in  a 
hundred  to  save  her  yet,"  he  said,  pointing  to  Piney ;  "  but  it 's 
there,"  he  added,  pointing  towards  Poker  Flat.  "  If  you  can 
reach  there  in  two  days  she 's  safe."  "  And  you  ? "  asked  Tom 
Simson.  "  I  '11  stay  here,"  was  the  curt  reply. 

The  lovers  parted  with  a  long  embrace.  "  You  are  not  going, 
too  ? "  said  the  Duchess,  as  she  saw  Mr.  Oakhurst  apparently 
waiting  to  accompany  him.  "  As  far  as  the  canon,"  he  replied. 
He  turned  suddenly,  and  kissed  the  Duchess,  leaving  her  pallid 
face  aflame,  and  her  trembling  lips  rigid  with  araMement 


204  SHORT   STORIES 

Night  came,  but  not  Mr.  Oakhurst.  It  brought  the  storm 
again  and  the  whirling  snow.  Then  the  Duchess,  feeding  the 
fire,  found  that  some  one  had  quietly  piled  beside  the  hut  enough 
fuel  to  last  a  few  days  longer.  The  tears  rose  to  her  eyes,  but 
she  hid  them  from  Piney. 

The  women  slept  but  little.  In  the  morning,  looking  into 
each  other's  faces,  they  read  their  fate.  Neither  spoke;  but 
Piney,  accepting  the  position  of  the  stronger,  drew  near  and 
placed  her  arm  around  the  Duchess's  waist.  They  kept  this 
attitude  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  That  night  the  storm  reached 
its  greatest  fury,  and,  rending  asunder  the  protecting  pines, 
invaded  the  very  hut. 

Toward  morning  they  found  themselves  unable  to  feed  the 
fire,  which  gradually  died  away.  As  the  embers  slowly  black- 
ened, the  Duchess  crept  closer  to  Piney,  and  broke  the  silence 
of  many  hours:  "Piney,  can  you  pray?"  "No,  dear,"  said 
Piney,  simply.  The  Duchess,  without  knowing  exactly  why, 
felt  relieved,  and,  putting  her  head  upon  Piney's  shoulder,  spoke 
no  more.  And  so  reclining,  the  younger  and  purer  pillowing  the 
head  of  her  soiled  sister  upon  her  virgin  breast,  they  fell  asleep. 

The  wind  lulled  as  if  it  feared  to  waken  them.  Feathery 
drifts  of  snow,  shaken  from  the  long  pine-boughs,  flew  like 
white-winged  birds,  and  settled  about  them  as  they  slept.  The 
moon  through  the  rifted  clouds  looked  down  upon  what  had  been 
the  camp.  But  all  human  stain,  all  trace  of  earthly  travail,  was 
hidden  beneath  the  spotless  mantle  mercifully  flung  from  above. 

They  slept  all  that  day  and  the  next,  nor  did  they  waken 
when  voices  and  footsteps  broke  the  silence  of  the  camp.  And 
when  pitying  fingers  brushed  the  snow  from  their  wan  faces, 
you  could  scarcely  have  told  from  the  equal  peace  that  dwelt 
upon  them,  which  was  she  that  had  sinned.  Even  the  law  of 
Poker  Flat  recognized  this,  and  turned  away,  leaving  them  still 
locked  in  each  other's  arms. 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT  205 

But  at  the  head  of  the  gulch,  on  one  of  the  largest  pine-trees, 
they  found  the  deuce  of  clubs  pinned  to  the  bark  with  a  bowie- 
knife.  It  bore  the  following,  written  in  pencil,  in  a  firm  hand: — 


BENEATH  THIS  TREE 
LIES  THE  BODY 

OF 

JOHN  OAKHURST, 

WHO  STRUCK  A  STREAK  OF  BAD  LUCK 
ON  THE  23D  OF  NOVEMBER,  1850, 

AND 

HANDED  IN  HIS  CHECKS 
ON  THE  7TH  DECEMBER,  1850. 


And  pulseless  and  cold,  with  a  derringer  by  his  side  and  a  bullet 
in  his  heart,  though  still  calm  as  in  life,  beneath  the  snow  lay 
he  who  was  at  once  the  strongest  and  yet  the  weakest  of  the 
outcasts  of  Poker  Flat. 


IX.   MARKHEIM1  (1884) 
BY  ROBERT  Louis  STEVENSON  (1850-1894) 

{Setting.  There  is  no  finer  model  for  the  study  of  setting  than 
this  story  affords.  It  is  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  a 
foggy  Christmas  Day  in  London.  If  Markheim's  manner  and 
the  dimly  lighted  interior  of  the  antique  shop  suggest  murder, 
the  garrulous  clocks,  the  nodding  shadows,  and  the  reflecting 
mirrors  seem  almost  to  compel  confession  and  surrender.  "  And 
still  as  he  continued  to  fill  his  pockets,  his  mind  accused  him, 
with  a  sickening  iteration,  of  the  thousand  faults  of  his  design. 
He  should  have  chosen  a  more  quiet  hour."  So  he  should  for 
the  murder;  but  for  the  self-confession,  which  is  Stevenson's 
ultimate  design,  no  time  or  place  could  have  been  better. 

Plot.  There  is  little  action  in  the  plot.  A  man  contmits  a 
dastardly  murder  and  then,  being  alone  and  undetected,  begins 
to  think,  think,  think.  It  is  the  turning  point  in  his  life  and  he 
knows  it.  Instead  of  seizing  the  treasure  and  escaping,  he  sub- 
mits his  past  career  to  a  rigid  scrutiny  and  review.  This  brood- 
ing over  his  past  life  and  present  outlook  becomes  so  absorbing 
that  what  bade  fair  to  be  a  soliloquy  becomes  a  dialogue,  a  dia- 
logue between  the  old  self  that  committed  the  murder  and  the 
new  self  that  begins  to  revolt  at  it.  The  old  self  bids  him  follow 
the  line  of  least  resistance  and  go  on  as  he  has  begun  ;  the  newly 
awakened  self  bids  him  stop  at  once,  check  the  momentum  of 
other  days,  take  this  last  chance,  and  be  a  man.  His  better 
nature  wins.  Markheim  finds  that  though  his  deeds  have  been 
uniformly  evil,  he  can  still  "  conceive  great  deeds,  renunciations, 

1  From  "  The  Merry  Men."  Used  by  permission  of  Charles  Scrib- 
ner's  Sons,  authorized  American  publishers  of  Stevenson's  Works. 


MARKHEIM  2O/ 

martyrdoms."  Though  the  active  love  of  good  seems  too  weak 
to  be  reckoned  as  an  asset,  he  still  has  a  "  hatred  of  evil ";  and 
on  this  twin  foundation,  ability  to  think  great  thoughts  and  to 
hate  evil  deeds,  he  builds  at  last  his  culminating  resolve. 

The  story  is  powerfully  and  yet  subtly  told.  It  sweeps  the 
whole  gamut  of  the  moral  law.  Many  stories  develop  the  same 
theme  but  none  just  like  this.  Stevenson  himself  is  drawn  again 
to  the  same  problem  a  little  "later  in  "  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde." 
Hawthorne  tried  it  in  "  Howe's  Masquerade,"  in  which  the 
cloaked  figure  is  the  phantom  or  reduplication  of  Howe  himself. 
In  Poe's  "  William  Wilson,"  to  which  Stevenson  is  plainly  in- 
debted, the  evil  nature  triumphs  over  the  good.  But  "  Mark- 
heim,"  by  touching  more  chords  and  by  sounding  lower  depths, 
makes  the  triumph  at  the  end  seem  like  a  permanent  victory 
for  universal  human  nature. 

Characters.  If  the  story  is  the  study  of  a  given  situation, 
Markheim,  who  is  another  type  of  the  developing  character,  is 
the  central  factor  in  the  situation.  We  see  and  interpret  the 
situation  only  through  the  personality  of  Markheim  himself. 
Another  murderer  might  have  acted  differently,  even  with  those 
clamorous  clocks  and  accusing  mirrors  around  him,  but  not  this 
murderer.  There  is  nothing  abnormal  about  him,  however,  as  a 
criminal.  He  is  thirty-six  years  old  and  through  sheer  weakness 
has  gone  steadily  downward,  but  he  has  never  before  done  a 
deed  approaching  this  in  horror  or  in  the  power  of  sudden  self 
revelation.  He  sees  himself  now  as  he  never  saw  himself  before 
and  begins  to  take  stock  of  his  moral  assets.  They  are  pitifully 
meager,  though  his  opportunities  for  character  building  have 
been  good.  He  has  even  had  emotional  revivals,  which  did  not, 
however,  issue  in  good  deeds.  But  with  it  all,  Markheim  illus- 
trates the  nobility  of  human  nature  rather  than  its  essential 
depravity.  I  do  not  doubt  his  complete  and  permanent  conver- 
sion. When  the  terrible  last  question  is  put  to  him  —  or  when 
he  puts  it  to  himself  —  whether  he  is  better  now  in  any  one 
particular  than  he  was,  and  when  he  is  forced  to  say,  "  No,  in 


208  SHORT  STORIES 

none  !  I  have  gone  down  in  all,"  the  moral  resources  of  human 
nature  itself  seem  to  be  exhausted.  But  they  are  not.  "  I  see 
clearly  what  remains  for  me,"  said  Markheim,  "  by  way  of 
duty"  This  word,  not  used  before,  sounds  a  new  challenge 
and  marks  the  crisis  of  the  story.  Duty  can  fight  without  call- 
ing in  reserves  from  the  past  and  without  the  vision  of  victory 
in  the  future.  I  don't  wonder  that  the  features  of  the  visitant 
"softened  with  a  tender  triumph."  The  visitant  was  neither 
"  the  devil "  as  Markheim  first  thought  him  nor  "  the  Saviour 
of  men  "  as  a  recent  editor  pronounces  him.  He  is  only  Mark- 
heim's  old  self,  the  self  that  entered  the  antique  shop,  that  with 
fear  and  trembling  committed  the  deed,  and  that  now,  half- 
conscious  all  the  time  of  inherent  falseness,  urges  the  old  argu- 
ments and  tries  to  energize  the  old  purposes.  It  is  this  visitant 
that  every  man  meets  and  overthrows  when  he  comes  to  him- 
self, when  he  breaks  sharply  with  the  old  life  and  enters  reso- 
lutely upon  the  new.] 


"  Yes,"  said  the  dealer,  "  our  windfalls  are  of  various  kinds. 
Some  customers  are  ignorant,  and  then  I  touch  a  dividend  on 
my  superior  knowledge.  Some  are  dishonest,"  and  here  he 
held  up  the  candle,  so  that  the  light  fell  strongly  on  his  visitor, 
"  and  in  that  case,"  he  continued,  "  I  profit  by  my  virtue." 

Markheim  had  but  just  entered  from  the  daylight  streets, 
and  his  eyes  had  not  yet  grown  familiar  with  the  mingled 
shine  and  darkness  in  the  shop.  At  these  pointed  words,  and 
before  the  near  presence  of  the  flame,  he  blinked  painfully 
and  looked  aside. 

The  dealer  chuckled.  "  You  come  to  me  on  Christmas-day," 
he  resumed,  "  when  you  know  that  I  am  alone  in  my  house, 
put  up  my  shutters,  and  make  a  point  of  refusing  business. 
Well,  you  will  have  to  pay  for  that ;  you  will  have  to  pay  for 
my  loss  of  time,  when  I  should  be  balancing  my  books ;  you 


MARKHEIM  209 

will  have  to  pay,  besides,  for  a  kind  of  manner  that  I  remark 
in  you  to-day  very  strongly.  I  am  the  essence  of  discretion, 
and  ask  no  awkward  questions ;  but  when  a  customer  can  not 
look  me  in  the  eye,  he  has  to  pay  for  it."  The  dealer  once 
more  chuckled ;  and  then,  changing  to  his  usual  business  voice, 
though  still  with  a  note  of  irony,  "  You  can  give,  as  usual,  a 
clean  account  of  how  you  came  into  the  possession  of  the 
object?"  he  continued.  "  Still  your  uncle's  cabinet?  A  remark- 
able collector,  sir  I " 

And  the  little,  pale,  round-shouldered  dealer  stood  almost  on 
tip-toe,  looking  over  the  top  of  his  gold  spectacles,  and  nodding 
his  head  with  every  mark  of  disbelief.  Markheim  returned  his 
gaze  with  one  of  infinite  pity,  and  a  touch  of  horror. 

"  This  time,"  said  he,  "  you  are  in  error.  I  have  not  come 
to  sell,  but  to  buy.  I  have  no  curios  to  dispose  of ;  my  uncle's 
cabinet  is  bare  to  the  wainscot ;  even  were  it  still  intact,  I  have 
done  well  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  should  more  likely  add 
to  it  than  otherwise,  and  my  errand  to-day  is  simplicity  itself. 
I  seek  a  Christmas-present  for  a  lady,"  he  continued,  waxing 
more  fluent  as  he  struck  into  the  speech  he  had  prepared; 
"  and  certainly  I  owe  you  every  excuse  for  thus  disturbing  you 
upon  so  small  a  matter.  But  the  thing  was  neglected  yester- 
day; I  must  produce  my  little  compliment  at  dinner;  and,  as 
you  very  well  know,  a  rich  marriage  is  not  a  thing  to  be 
neglected." 

There  followed  a  pause,  during  which  the  dealer  seemed  to 
weigh  this  statement  incredulously.  The  ticking  of  many  clocks 
among  the  curious  lumber  of  the  shop,  and  the  faint  rushing 
of  the  cabs  in  a  near  thoroughfare,  filled  up  the  interval  of 
silence. 

"'Well,  sir,"  said  the  dealer,  "  be  it  so.  You  are  an  old  cus- 
tomer after  all ;  and  if,  as  you  say,  you  have  the  chance  of  a 
good  marriage,  far  be  it  from  me  to  be  an  obstacle.  Here  is 


2io  SHORT  STORIES 

a  nice  thing  for  a  lady  now,"  he  went  on,  "  this  hand-glass  — 
fifteenth  century,  warranted;  comes  from  a  good  collection, 
too ;  but  I  reserve  the  name,  in  the  interests  of  my  customer, 
who  was  just  like  yourself,  my  dear  sir,  the  nephew  and  sole 
heir  of  a  remarkable  collector." 

The  dealer,  while  he  thus  ran  on  in  his  dry  and  biting  voice, 
had  stooped  to  take  the  object  from  its  place ;  and,  as  he  had 
done  so,  a  shock  had  passed  through  Markheim,  a  start  both 
of  hand  and  foot,  a  sudden  leap  of  many  tumultuous  passions 
to  the  face.  It  passed  as  swiftly  as  it  came,  and  left  no  trace 
beyond  a  certain  trembling  of  the  hand  that  now  received  the 
glass. 

"  A  glass,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  and  then  paused,  and  repeated 
it  more  clearly.  "  A  glass  ?  For  Christmas  ?  Surely  not  ? " 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  cried  the  dealer.    "  Why  not  a  glass  ?  " 

Markheim  was  looking  upon  him  with  an  indefinable  expres- 
sion. "  You  ask  me  why  not  ?  "  he  said.  "  Why,  look  here  — 
look  in  it  —  look  at  yourself !  Do  you  like  to  see  it  ?  No  !  nor 
I  —  nor  any  man." 

The  little  man  had  jumped  back  when  Markheim  had  so 
suddenly  confronted  him  with  the  mirror ;  but  now,  perceiving 
there  was  nothing  worse  on  hand,  he  chuckled.  "  Your  future 
lady,  sir,  must  be  pretty  hard  favored,"  said  he. 

"  I  ask  you,"  said  Markheim,  "  for  a  Christmas-present,  and 
you  give  me  this  —  this  damned  reminder  of  years,  and  sins 
and  follies  —  this  hand-conscience  I  Did  you  mean  it  ?  Had 
you  a  thought  in  your  mind?  Tell  me.  It  will  be  better  for 
you  if  you  do.  Come,  tell  me  about  yourself.  I  hazard  a  guess 
now,  that  you  are  in  secret  a  very  charitable  man  ? " 

The  dealer  looked  closely  at  his  companion.  It  was  very 
odd,  Markheim  did  not  appear  to  be  laughing ;  there  '  was 
something  in  his  face  like  an  eager  sparkle  of  hope,  but 
nothing  of  mirth. 


MARKHEIM  211 

"  What  are  you  driving  at  ?  "  the  dealer  asked. 

"Not  charitable?"  returned  the  other,  gloomily.  "Not  chari- 
table ;  not  pious  ;  not  scrupulous ;  unloving,  unbeloved ;  a  hand 
to  get  money,  a  safe  to  keep  it.  Is  that  all  ?  Dear  God,  man, 
is  that  all  ? " 

"I  will  tell  you  what  it  is,"  began  the  dealer,  with  some 
sharpness,  and  then  broke  off  again  into  a  chuckle.  "  But  I  see 
this  is  a  love  match  of  yours,  and  you  have  been  drinking  the 
lady's  health." 

"  Ah ! "  cried  Markheim,  with  a  strange  curiosity.  "  Ah, 
have  you  been  in  love  ?  Tell  me  about  that." 

"  I,"  cried  the  dealer.  "  I  in  love  1  I  never  had  the  time, 
nor  have  I  the  time  to-day  for  all  this  nonsense.  Will  you 
take  the  glass?" 

"  Where  is  the  hurry  ? "  returned  Markheim.  "  It  is  very- 
pleasant  to  stand  here  talking ;  and  life  is  so  short  and  insecure 
that  I  would  not  hurry  away  from  any  pleasure  —  no,  not  even 
from  so  mild  a  one  as  this.  We  should  rather  cling,  cling  to 
what  little  we  can  get,  like  a  man  at  a  cliff's  edge.  Every  sec- 
ond is  a  cliff,  if  you  think  upon  it  —  a  cliff  a  mile  high  —  high 
enough,  if  we  fall,  to  dash  us  out  of  every  feature  of  humanity. 
Hence  it  is  best  to  talk  pleasantly.  Let  us  talk  of  each  other ; 
why  should  we  wear  this  mask  ?  Let  us  be  confidential.  Who 
knows,  we  might  become  friends  ? " 

"  I  have  just  one  word  to  say  to  you,"  said  the  dealer. 
"  Either  make  your  purchase,  or  walk  out  of  my  shop." 

"  True,  true,"  said  Markheim.  "  Enough  fooling.  To  busi- 
ness. Show  me  something  else." 

The  dealer  stooped  once  more,  this  time  to  replace  the  glass 
upon  the  shelf,  his  thin  blonde  hair  falling  over  his  eyes  as  he 
did  so.  Markheim  moved  a  little  nearer,  with  one  hand  in  the 
pocket  of  his  great-coat;  he  drew  himself  up  and  filled  his 
lungs ;  at  the  same  time  many  different  emotions  were  depicted 


212  SHORT  STORIES 

together  on  his  face  —  terror,  horror,  and  resolve,  fascination 
and  a  physical  repulsion;  and  through  a  haggard  lift  of  his 
upper  lip,  his  teeth  looked  out 

"  This,  perhaps,  may  suit,"  observed  the  dealer ;  and  then, 
as  he  began  to  re-arise,  Markheim  bounded  from  behind  upon 
his  victim.  The  long,  skewer-like  dagger  flashed  and  fell.  The 
dealer  struggled  like  a  hen,  striking  his  temple  on  the  shelf, 
and  then  tumbled  on  the  floor  in  a  heap. 

Time  had  some  score  of  small  voices  in  that  shop,  some 
stately  and  slow  as  was  becoming  to  their  great  age;  others 
garrulous  and  hurried.  All  these  told  out  the  seconds  in  an 
intricate  chorus  of  tickings.  Then  the  passage  of  a  lad's  feet, 
heavily  running  on  the  pavement,  broke  in  upon  these  smaller 
voices  and  startled  Markheim  into  the  consciousness  of  his 
surroundings.  He  looked  about  him  awfully.  The  candle  stood 
on  the  counter,  its  flame  solemnly  wagging  in  a  draught ;  and 
by  that  inconsiderable  movement,  the  whole  room  was  filled 
with  noiseless  bustle  and  kept  heaving  like  a  sea:  the  tall 
shadows  nodding,  the  gross  blots  of  darkness  swelling  and 
dwindling  as  with  respiration,  the  faces  of  the  portraits  and  the 
china  gods  changing  and  wavering  like  images  in  water.  The 
inner  door  stood  ajar,  and  peered  into  that  leaguer  of  shadows 
with  a  long  slit  of  daylight  like  a  pointing  finger. 

From  these  fear-stricken  rovings,  Markheim's  eyes  returned 
to  the  body  of  his  victim,  where  it  lay  both  humped  and  sprawl- 
ing, incredibly  small  and  strangely  meaner  than  in  life.  In  these 
poor,  miserly  clothes,  in  that  ungainly  attitude,  the  dealer  lay 
like  so  much  sawdust.  Markheim  had  feared  to  see  it,  and,  lo ! 
it  was  nothing.  And  yet,  as  he  gazed,  this  bundle  of  old  clothes 
and  pool  of  blood  began  to  find  eloquent  voices.  There  it  must 
lie ;  there  was  none  to  work  the  cunning  hinges  or  direct  the 
miracle  of  locomotion  —  there  it  must  lie  till  it  was  found. 
Found !  ay,  and  then  ?  Then  would  this  dead  flesh  lift  up  a  cry 


MARKHEIM  213 

that  would  ring  over  England,  and  fill  the  world  with  the  echoes 
of  pursuit.  Ay,  dead  or  not,  this  was  still  the  enemy.  "  Time 
was  that  when  the  brains  were  out,"  he  thought ;  and  the  first 
word  struck  into  his  mind.  Time,  now  that  the  deed  was  accom- 
plished —  time,  which  had  closed  for  the  victim,  had  become 
instant  and  momentous  for  the  slayer. 

The  thought  was  yet  in  his  mind,  when,  first  one  and  then 
another,  with  every  variety  of  pace  and  voice  —  one  deep  as 
the  bell  from  a  cathedral  turret,  another  ringing  on  its  treble 
notes  the  prelude  of  a  waltz  —  the  clocks  began  to  strike  the 
hour  of  three  in  the  afternoon. 

The  sudden  outbreak  of  so  many  tongues  in  that  dumb 
chamber  staggered  him.  He  began  to  bestir  himself,  going  to 
and  fro  with  the  candle,  beleaguered  by  moving  shadows,  and 
startled  to  the  soul  by  chance  reflections.  In  many  rich  mirrors, 
some  of  home  designs,  some  from  Venice  or  Amsterdam,  he 
saw  his  face  repeated  and  repeated,  as  it  were  an  army  of 
spies;  his  own  eyes  met  and  detected  him;  and  the  sound 
of  his  own  steps,  lightly  as  they  fell,  vexed  the  surrounding 
quiet.  And  still  as  he  continued  to  fill  his  pockets,  his  mind 
accused  him,  with  a  sickening  iteration,  of  the  thousand  faults 
of  his  design.  He  should  have  chosen  a  more  quiet  hour;  he 
should  have  prepared  an  alibi;  he  should  not  have  used  a 
knife ;  he  should  have  been  more  cautious,  and  only  bound 
and  gagged  the  dealer,  and  not  killed  him ;  he  should  have  been 
more  bold,  and  killed  the  servant  also ;  he  should  have  done  all 
things  otherwise ;  poignant  regrets,  weary,  incessant  toiling  of 
the  mind  to  change  what  was  unchangeable,  to  plan  what  was 
now  useless,  to  be  the  architect  of  the  irrevocable  past.  Mean- 
while, and  behind  all  this  activity,  brute  terrors,  like  scurrying 
of  rats  in  a  deserted  attic,  filled  the  more  remote  chambers  of 
his  brain  with  riot ;  the  hand  of  the  constable  would  fall  heavy 
on  his  shoulder,  and  his  nerves  would  jerk  like  a  hooked  fish ; 


214  SHORT   STORIES 

or  he  beheld,  in  galloping  defile,  the  dock,  the  prison,  the  gallows, 
and  the  black  coffin. 

Terror  of  the  people  in  the  street  sat  down  before  his  mind 
like  a  besieging  army.  It  was  impossible,  he  thought,  but  that 
some  rumor  of  the  struggle  must  have  reached  their  ears  and 
set  on  edge  their  curiosity;  and  now,  in  all  the  neighboring 
houses,  he  divined  them  sitting  motionless  and  with  uplifted  ear 
—  solitary  people,  condemned  to  spend  Christmas  dwelling 
alone  on  memories  of  the  past,  and  now  startlingly  recalled 
from  that  tender  exercise;  happy  family  parties,  struck  into 
silence  round  the  table,  the  mother  still  with  raised  finger: 
every  degree  and  age  and  humor,  but  all,  by  their  own  hearths, 
prying  and  hearkening  and  weaving  the  rope  that  was  to  hang 
him.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  him  he  could  not  move  too  softly  ; 
the  clink  of  the  tall  Bohemian  goblets  rang  out  loudly  like  a 
bell ;  and  alarmed  by  the  bigness  of  the  ticking,  he  was  tempted 
to  stop  the  clocks.  And  then,  again,  with  a  swift  transition  of 
his  terrors,  the  very  silence  of  the  place  appeared  a  source  of 
peril,  and  a  thing  to  strike  and  freeze  the  passer-by;  and  he 
would  step  more  boldly,  and  bustle  aloud  among  the  contents 
of  the  shop,  and  imitate,  with  elaborate  bravado,  the  movements 
of  a  busy  man  at  ease  in  his  own  house. 

But  he  was  now  so  pulled  about  by  different  alarms  that, 
while  one  portion  of  his  mind  was  still  alert  and  cunning, 
another  trembled  on  the  brink  of  lunacy.  One  hallucination  in 
particular  took  a  strong  hold  on  his  credulity.  The  neighbor 
hearkening  with  white  face  beside  his  window,  the  passer-by 
arrested  by  a  horrible  surmise  on  the  pavement  —  these  could 
at  worst  suspect,  they  could  not  know ;  through  the  brick  walls 
and  shuttered  windows  only  sounds  could  penetrate.  But  here, 
within  the  house,  was  he  alone?  He  knew  he  was;  he  had 
watched  the  servant  set  forth  sweethearting,  in  her  poor  best, 
"  out  for  the  day  "  written  in  every  ribbon  and  smile.  Yes,  he 


MARKHEIM  215 

was  alone,  of  course;  and  yet,  in  the  bulk  of  empty  house 
above  him,  he  could  surely  hear  a  stir  of  delicate  footing  —  he 
was  surely  conscious,  inexplicably  conscious  of  some  presence. 
Ay,  surely ;  to  every  room  and  corner  of  the  house  his  imagina 
tion  followed  it ;  and  now  it  was  a  faceless  thing,  and  yet  had 
eyes  to  see  with ;  and  again  it  was  a  shadow  of  himself ;  and 
yet  again  behold  the  image  of  the  dead  dealer,  reinspired  with 
cunning  and  hatred. 

At  times,  with  a  strong  effort,  he  would  glance  at  the  open 
door  which  still  seemed  to  repel  his  eyes.  The  house  was  taA, 
the  skylight  small  and  dirty,  the  day  blind  with  fog;  and  the 
light  that  filtered  down  to  the  ground  story  was  exceedingly 
faint,  and  showed  dimly  on  the  threshold  of  the  shop.  And  yet, 
in  that  strip  of  doubtful  brightness,  did  there  not  hang  wavering 
a  shadow  ? 

Suddenly,  from  the  street  outside,  a  very  jovial  gentleman 
began  to  beat  with  a  staff  on  the  shop-door,  accompanying  his 
blows  with  shouts  and  railleries  in  which  the  dealer  was  con- 
tinually called  upon  by  name.  Markheim,  smitten  into  ice, 
glanced  at  the  dead  man.  But  no !  he  lay  quite  still ;  he  was 
fled  away  far  beyond  earshot  of  these  blows  and  shoutings ;  he 
was  sunk  beneath  seas  of  silence ;  and  his  name,  which  would 
once  have  caught  his  notice  above  the  howling  of  a  storm,  had 
become  an  empty  sound.  And  presently  the  jovial  gentleman 
desisted  from  his  knocking  and  departed. 

Here  was  a  broad  hint  to  hurry  what  remained  to  be  done, 
to  get  forth  from  this  accusing  neighborhood,  to  plunge  into  a 
bath  of  London  multitudes,  and  to  reach,  on  the  other  side  o~ 
day,  that  haven  of  safety  and  apparent  innocence  —  his  bed.  One 
visitor  had  come :  at  any  moment  another  might  follow  and  be 
more  obstinate.  To  have  done  the  deed,  and  yet  not  to  reap  the 
profit,  would  be  too  abhorrent  a  failure.  The  money,  that  was 
now  Markheim's  concern ;  and  as  a  means  to  that,  the  keys. 


2l6  SHORT  STORIES 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  open  door,  where  the 
shadow  was  still  lingering  and  shivering ;  and  with  no  conscious 
repugnance  of  the  mind,  yet  with  a  tremor  of  the  belly,  he  drew 
near  the  body  of  his  victim.  The  human  character  had  quite 
departed.  Like  a  suit  half-stuffed  with  bran,  the  limbs  lay  scat- 
tered, the  trunk  doubled,  on  the  floor;  and  yet  the  thing 
repelled  him.  Although  so  dingy  and  inconsiderable  to  the  eye, 
he  feared  it  might  have  more  significance  to  the  touch.  He 
took  the  body  by  the  shoulders,  and  turned  it  on  its  back.  It 
was  strangely  light  and  supple,  and  the  limbs,  as  if  they  had 
been  broken,  fell  into  the  oddest  postures.  The  face  was  robbed 
of  all  expression;  but  it  was  as  pale  as  wax,  and  shockingly 
smeared  with  blood  about  one  temple.  That  was,  for  Markheim, 
the  one  displeasing  circumstance.  It  carried  him  back,  upon 
the  instant,  to  a  certain  fair  day  in  a  fisher's  village :  a  gray 
day,  a  piping  wind,  a  crowd  upon  the  street,  the  blare  of 
brasses,  the  booming  of  drums,  the  nasal  voice  of  a  ballad 
singer ;  and  a  boy  going  to  and  fro,  buried  over  head  in  the  crowd 
and  divided  between  interest  and  fear,  until,  coming  out  upon  the 
chief  place  of  concourse,  he  beheld  a  booth  and  a  great  screen 
with  pictures,  dismally  designed,  garishly  colored :  Brownrigg 
with  her  apprentice ;  the  Mannings  with  their  murdered  guest ; 
Weare  in  the  death-grip  of  Thurtell;  and  a  score  besides  of 
famous  crimes.  The  thing  was  as  clear  as  an  illusion ;  he  was 
once  again  that  little  boy ;  he  was  looking  once  again,  and  with 
the  same  sense  of  physical  revolt,  at  these  vile  pictures;  he 
was  still  stunned  by  the  thumping  of  the  drum&  A  bar  of  that 
day's  music  returned  upon  his  memory ;  and  at  that,  for  the 
first  time,  a  qualm  came  over  him,  a  breath  of  nausea,  a  sud- 
den weakness  of  the  joints,  which  he  must  instantly  resist 
and  conquer. 

He  judged  it  more  prudent  to  confront  than  to  flee  from 
these  considerations ;  looking  the  more  hardily  in  the  dead 


MARKHEIM  2 1/ 

face,  bending  his  mind  to  realize  the  nature  and  greatness  of 
his  crime.  So  little  awhile  ago  that  face  had  moved  with  every 
change  of  sentiment,  that  pale  mouth  had  spoken,  that  body 
had  been  all  on  fire  with  governable  energies ;  and  now,  and 
by  his  act,  that  piece  of  life  had  been  arrested,  as  the  horolo- 
gist,  with  interjected  finger,  arrests  the  beating  of  the  clock. 
So  he  reasoned  in  vain ;  he  could  rise  to  no  more  remorseful 
consciousness ;  the  same  heart  which  had  shuddered  before  the 
painted  effigies  of  crime,  looked  on  its  reality  unmoved.  At 
best,  he  felt  a  gleam  of  pity  for  one  who  had  been  endowed  in 
vain  with  all  those  faculties  that  can  make  the  world  a  garden 
of  enchantment,  one  who  had  never  lived  and  who  was  now 
dead.  But  of  penitence,  no,  with  a  tremor. 

With  that,  shaking  himself  clear  of  these  considerations,  he 
found  the  keys  and  advanced  toward  the  open  door  of  the 
shop.  Outside,  it  had  begun  to  rain  smartly ;  and  the  sound 
of  the  shower  upon  the  roof  had  banished  silence.  Like  some 
dripping  cavern,  the  chambers  of  the  house  were  haunted  by 
an  incessant  echoing,  which  filled  the  ear  and  mingled  with  the 
ticking  of  the  clocks.  And,  as  Markheim  approached  the  door, 
he  seemed  to  hear,  in  answer  to  his  own  cautious  tread,  the 
steps  of  another  foot  withdrawing  up  the  stair.  The  shadow 
still  palpitated  loosely  on  the  threshold.  He  threw  a  ton's 
weight  of  resolve  upon  his  muscles,  and  drew  back  the  door. 

The  faint,  foggy  daylight  glimmered  dimly  on  the  bare  floor 
and  stairs ;  on  the  bright  suit  of  armor  posted,  halbert  in  hand, 
upon  the  landing ;  and  on  the  dark  wood-carvings,  and  framed 
pictures  that  hung  against  the  yellow  panels  of  the  wainscot. 
So  loud  was  the  beating  of  the  rain  through  all  the  house  that, 
in  Markheim's  ears,  it  began  to  be  distinguished  into  many 
different  sounds.  Footsteps  and  sighs,  the  tread  of  regiments 
marching  in  the  distance,  the  chink  of  money  in  the  counting, 
and  the  creaking  of  doors  held  stealthily  ajar,  appeared  to 


2i8  SHORT  STORIES 

mingle  with  the  patter  of  the  drops  upon  the  cupola  and  the 
gushing  of  the  water  in  the  pipes.  The  sense  that  he  was  not 
alone  grew  upon  him  to  the  verge  of  madness.  On  every  side 
he  was  haunted  and  begirt  by  presences.  He  heard  them 
moving  in  the  upper  chambers;  from  the  shop,  he  heard  the 
dead  man  getting  to  his  legs;  and  as  he  began  with  a  great 
effort  to  mount  the  stairs,  feet  fled  quietly  before  him  and  fol- 
lowed stealthily  behind.  If  he  were  but  deaf,  he  thought,  how 
tranquilly  he  would  possess  his  soul.  And  then  again,  and  heark- 
ening with  every  fresh  attention,  he  blessed  himself  for  that  unre- 
sisting sense  which  held  the  outposts  and  stood  a  trusty  sentinel 
upon  his  life.  His  head  turned  continually  on  his  neck ;  his 
eyes,  which  seemed  starting  from  their  orbits,  scouted  on  every 
side,  and  on  every  side  were  half-rewarded  as  with  the  tail  of 
something  nameless  vanishing.  The  four-and-twenty  steps  to 
the  first  floor  were  four-and-twenty  agonies. 

On  that  first  story,  the  door  stood  ajar,  three  of  them  like 
three  ambushes,  shaking  his  nerves  like  the  throats  of  cannon. 
He  could  never  again,  he  felt,  be  sufficiently  immured  and 
fortified  from  men's  observing  eyes;  he  longed  to  be  home, 
girt  in  by  walls,  buried  among  bedclothes,  and  invisible  to  all 
but  God.  And  at  that  thought  he  wondered  a  little,  recollecting 
tales  of  other  murderers  and  the  fear  they  were  said  to  enter- 
tain of  heavenly  avengers.  It  was  not  so,  at  least,  with  him. 
He  feared  the  laws  of  nature,  lest,  in  their  callous  and  immu- 
table procedure,  they  should  preserve  some  damning  evidence 
of  his  crime.  He  feared  tenfold  more,  with  a  slavish,  supersti- 
tious terror,  some  scission  in  the  continuity  of  man's  experience, 
some  willful  illegality  of  nature.  He  played  a  game  of  skill, 
depending  on  the  rules,  calculating  consequence  from  cause; 
and  what  if  nature,  as  the  defeated  tyrant  overthrew  the  chess- 
board, should  break  the  mold  of  their  succession  ?  The  like 
had  befallen  Napoleon  (so  writers  said)  whe'n  the  winter  changed 


MARKHEIM  219 

the  time  of  its  appearance.  The  like  might  befall  Markheim : 
the  solid  walls  might  become  transparent  and  reveal  his  doings 
like  those  of  bees  in  a  glass  hive ;  the  stout  planks  might  yield 
under  his  foot  like  quicksands  and  detain  him  in  their  clutch ; 
ay,  and  there  were  soberer  accidents  that  might  destroy  him : 
if,  for  instance,  the  house  should  fall  and  imprison  him  beside 
the  body  of  his  victim ;  the  house  next  door  should  fly  on  fire, 
and  the  firemen  invade  him  from  all  sides.  These  things  he 
feared ;  and,  in  a  sense,  these  things  might  be  called  the  hands 
of  God  reached  forth  against  sin.  But  about  God  himself  he 
was  at  ease ;  his  act  was  doubtless  exceptional,  but  so  were 
his  excuses,  which  God  knew;  it  was  there,  and  not  among 
men,  that  he  felt  sure  of  justice. 

When  he  had  got  safe  into  the  drawing-room,  and  shut  the 
door  behind  him,  he  was  aware  of  a  respite  from  alarms.  The 
room  was  quite  dismantled,  uncarpeted  besides,  and  strewn 
with  packing  cases  and  incongruous  furniture;  several  great 
pier-glasses,  in  which  he  beheld  himself  at  various  angles,  like 
an  actor  on  the  stage ;  many  pictures,  framed  and  unframed, 
standing  with  their  faces  to  the  wall ;  a  fine  Sheraton  sideboard, 
a  cabinet  of  marquetry,  and  a  great  old  bed,  with  tapestry 
hangings.  The  windows  opened  to  the  floor;  but1  by  great 
good  fortune  the  lower  part  of  the  shutters  had  been  closed, 
and  this  concealed  him  from  the  neighbors.  Here,  then,  Mark- 
heim drew  in  a  packing  case  before  the  cabinet,  and  began  to 
search  among  the  keys.  It  was  a  long  business,  for  there  were 
many ;  and  it  was  irksome,  besides ;  for,  after  all,  there  might 
be  nothing  in  the  cabinet,  and  time  was  on  the  wing.  But  the 
closeness  of  the  occupation  sobered  him.  With  the  tail  of  his 
eye  he  saw  the  door  —  even  glanced  at  it  from  time  to  time 
directly,  like  a  besieged  commander  pleased  to  verify  the  good 
estate  of  his  defenses.  But  in  truth  he  was  at  peace.  The  rain 
falling  in  the  street  sounded  natural  and  pleasant.  Presently, 


220  SHORT   STORIES 

on  the  other  side,  the  notes  of  a  piano  were  wakened  to  the 
music  of  a  hymn,  and  the  voices  of  many  children  took  up  the 
air  and  words.  How  stately,  how  comfortable  was  the  melody ! 
How  fresh  the  youthful  voices  1  Markheim  gave  ear  to  it  smil- 
ingly, as  he  sorted  out  the  keys ;  and  his  mind  was  thronged 
with  answerable  ideas  and  images ;  church-going  children  and 
the  pealing  of  the  high  organ ;  children  afield,  bathers  by  the 
brook-side,  ramblers  on  the  brambly  common,  kite-flyers  in  the 
windy  and  cloud-navigated  sky;  and  then,  at  another  cadence 
of  the  hymn,  back  again  to  church,  and  the  somnolence  of 
summer  Sundays,  and  the  high  genteel  voice  of  the  parson 
(which  he  smiled  a  little  to  recall)  and  the  painted  Jacobean 
tombs,  and  the  dim  lettering  of  the  Ten  Commandments  in 
the  chancel. 

And  as  he  sat  thus,  at  once  busy  and  absent,  he  was  startled 
to  his  feet.  A  flash  of  ice,  a  flash  of  fire,  a  bursting  gush  of 
blood,  went  over  him,  and  then  he  stood  transfixed  and  thrill- 
ing. A  step  mounted  the  stair  slowly  and  steadily,  and  presently 
a  hand  was  laid  upon  the  knob,  and  the  lock  clicked,  and  the 
door  opened. 

Fear  held  Markheim  in  a  vice.  What  to  expect  he  knew 
not,  whether  the  dead  man  walking,  or  the  official  ministers  of 
human  justice,  or  some  chance  witness  blindly  stumbling  in  to 
consign  him  to  the  gallows.  But  when  a  face  was  thrust  into 
the  aperture,  glanced  round  the  room,  looked  at  him,  nodded 
and  smiled  as  if  in  friendly  recognition,  and  then  withdrew 
again,  and  the  door  closed  behind  it,  his  fear  broke  loose  from 
his  control  in  a  hoarse  cry.  At  the  sound  of  this  the  visitant 
returned. 

"  Did  you  call  me  ? "  he  asked,  pleasantly,  and  with  that  he 
entered  the  room  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

Markheim  stood  and  gazed  at  him  with  all  his  eyes.  Per- 
haps there  was  a  film  upon  his  sight,  but  the  outlines  of  the 


MARKHEIM  221 

newcomer  seemed  to  change  and  waver  like  those  of  the  idols 
in  the  wavering  candle-light  of  the  shop ;  and  at  times  he 
thought  he  knew  him ;  and  at  times  he  thought  he  bore  a  like- 
ness to  himself ;  and  always,  like  a  lump  of  living  terror,  there 
lay  in  his  bosom  the  conviction  that  this  thing  was  not  of  the 
earth  and  not  of  God. 

And  yet  the  creature  had  a  strange  air  of  the  common-place, 
as  he  stood  looking  on  Markheim  with  a  smile ;  and  when  he 
added :  "  You  are  looking  for  the  money,  I  believe  ? "  it  was 
in  the  tones  of  everyday  politeness. 

Markheim  made  no  answer. 

"  I  should  warn  you,"  resumed  the  other,  "  that  the  maid 
has  left  her  sweetheart  earlier  than  usual  and  will  soon  be  here. 
If  Mr.  Markheim  be  found  in  this  house,  I  need  not  describe 
to  him  the  consequences." 

"  You  know  me  ? "  cried  the  murderer. 

The  visitor  smiled.  "  You  have  long  been  a  favorite  of 
mine,"  he  said :  "  and  I  have  long  observed  and  often  sought 
to  help  you." 

"  What  are  you  ? "  cried  Markheim :  "  the  devil  ? " 

"  What  I  may  be,"  returned  the  other,  "  can  not  affect  the 
service  I  propose  to  render  you." 

"  It  can,"  cried  Markheim ;  "  it  does !  Be  helped  by  you  ? 
No,  never ;  not  by  you  1  You  do  not  know  me  yet,  thank  God, 
you  do  not  know  me ! " 

"  I  know  you,"  replied  the  visitant,  with  a  sort  of  kind 
severity  or  rather  firmness.  "  I  know  you  to  the  soul." 

"  Know  me !  "  cried  Markheim.  "  Who  can  do  so  ?  My  life 
is  but  a  travesty  and  slander  on  myself.  I  have  lived  to  belie 
my  nature.  All  men  do ;  all  men  are  better  than  this  disguise 
that  grows  about  and  stifles  them.  You  see  each  dragged  away 
by  life,  like  one  whom  bravos  have  seized  and  muffled  in  a 
cloak.  If  they  had  their  own  control  —  if  you  could  see  their 


222  SHORT  STORIES 

faces,  they  would  be  altogether  different,  they  would  shine  out 
for  heroes  and  saints  !  I  am  worse  than  most ;  my  self  is  more 
overlaid ;  my  excuse  is  known  to  me  and  God.  But,  had  I  the 
time,  I  could  disclose  myself." 

"  To  me  ? "  inquired  the  visitant. 

"  To  you  before  all,"  returned  the  murderer.  "  I  supposed 
you  were  intelligent.  I  thought  —  since  you  exist  —  you  would 
prove  a  reader  of  the  heart.  And  yet  you  would  propose  to 
judge  me  by  my  acts  !  Think  of  it ;  my  acts  !  I  was  born  and 
I  have  lived  in  a  land  of  giants ;  giants  have  dragged  me  by 
the  wrists  since  I  was  born  out  of  my  mother  —  the  giants  of 
circumstance.  And  you  would  judge  me  by  my  acts !  But  can 
you  not  look  within  ?  Can  you  not  understand  that  evil  is  hate- 
ful to  me?  Can  you  not  see  within  me  the  clear  writing  of 
conscience,  never  blurred  by  any  willful  sophistry,  although  too 
often  disregarded?  Can  you  not  read  me  for  a  thing  that  surely 
must  be  common  as  humanity  —  the  unwilling  sinner  ? " 

"  All  this  is  very  feelingly  expressed,"  was  the  reply,  "  but 
it  regards  me  not.  These  points  of  consistency  are  beyond  my 
province,  and  I  care  not  in  the  least  by  what  compulsion  you 
may  have  been  dragged  away,  so  as  you  are  but  carried  in  the 
right  direction.  But  time  flies;  the  servant  delays,  looking  in 
the  faces  of  the  crowd  and  at  the  pictures  on  the  hoardings, 
but  still  she  keeps  moving  nearer;  and  remember,  it  is  as  if 
the  gallows  itself  was  striding  toward  you  through  the  Christ- 
mas streets  1  Shall  I  help  you ;  I,  who  know  all  ?  Shall  I  tell 
you  where  to  find  the  money  ? " 

"  For  what  price  ? "  asked  Markheim. 

"  I  offer  you  the  service  for  a  Christmas  gift,"  returned  the 
other. 

Markheim  could  not  refrain  from  smiling  with  a  kind  of 
bitter  triumph.  "  No,"  said  he,  "  I  will  take  nothing  at  your 
hands ;  if  I  were  dying  of  thirst,  and  it  was  your  hand  that  put 


MARKHEIM  223 

the  pitcher  to  my  lips,  I  should  find  the  courage  to  refuse.  It 
may  be  credulous,  but  I  will  do  nothing  to  commit  myself  to  evil." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  a  death-bed  repentance,"  observed 
the  visitant. 

"  Because  you  disbelieve  their  efficacy ! "  Markheim  cried. 

"  I  do  not  say  so,"  returned  the  other ;  "  but  I  look  on  these 
things  from  a  different  side,  and  when  the  life  is  done  my  in- 
terest falls.  The  man  has  lived  to  serve  me,  to  spread  black 
looks  under  color  of  religion,  or  to  sow  tares  in  the  wheat-field, 
as  you  do,  in  a  course  of  weak  compliance  with  desire.  Now 
that  he  draws  so  near  to  his  deliverance,  he  can  add  but  one 
act  of  service  —  to  repent,  to  die  smiling,  and  thus  to  build  up 
in  confidence  and  hope  the  more  timorous  of  my  surviving  fol- 
lowers. I  am  not  so  hard  a  master.  Try  me.  Accept  my  help. 
Please  yourself  in  life  as  you  have  done  hitherto ;  please  your- 
self more  amply,  spread  your  elbows  at  the  board ;  and  when 
the  night  begins  to  fall  and  the  curtains  to  be  drawn,  I  tell 
you,  for  your  greater  comfort,  that  you  will  find  it  even  easy 
to  compound  your  quarrel  with  your  conscience,  and  to  make  a 
truckling  peace  with  God.  I  came  but  now  from  such  a  death- 
bed, and  the  room  was  full  of  sincere  mourners,  listening  to  the 
man's  last  words :  and  when  I  looked  into  that  face,  which  had 
been  set  as  a  flint  against  mercy,  I  found  it  smiling  with  hope." 

"  And  do  you,  then,  suppose  me  such  a  creature  ? "  asked 
Markheim.  "  Do  you  think  I  have  no  more  generous  aspirations 
than  to  sin,  and  sin,  and  sin,  and,  at  last,  sneak  into  heaven  ? 
My  heart  rises  at  the  thought.  Is  this,  then,  your  experience  of 
mankind  ?  or  is  it  because  you  find  me  with  red  hands  that  you 
presume  such  baseness?  and  is  this  crime  of  murder  indeed 
so  impious  as  to  dry  up  the  very  springs  of  good  ? " 

"  Murder  is  to  me  no  special  category,"  replied  the  other. 
"All  sins  are  murder,  even  as  all  life  is  war.  I  behold  your 
race,  like  starving  mariners  on  a  raft,  plucking  crusts  out  of 


224  SHORT  STORIES 

the  hands  of  famine  and  feeding  on  each  other's  lives.  I  follow 
sins  beyond  the  moment  of  their  acting ;  I  find  in  all  that  the 
last  consequence  is  death;  and  to  my  eyes,  the  pretty  maid 
who  thwarts  her  mother  with  such  taking  graces  on  a  question 
of  a  ball,  drips  no  less  visibly  with  human  gore  than  such  a 
murderer  as  yourself.  Do  I  say  that  I  follow  sins?  I  follow 
virtues  also ;  they  differ  not  by  the  thickness  of  a  nail,  they  are 
both  scythes  for  the  reaping  angel  of  Death.  Evil,  for  which  I 
live,  consists  not  in  action  but  in  character.  The  bad  man  is 
dear  to  me ;  not  the  bad  act,  whose  fruits,  if  we  could  follow 
them  far  enough  down  the  hurtling  cataract  of  the  ages,  might 
yet  be  found  more  blessed  than  those  of  the  rarest  virtues. 
And  it  is  not  because  you  have  killed  a  dealer,  but  because 
you  are  Markheim,  that  I  offered  to  forward  your  escape." 

"I  will  lay  my  heart  open  to  you,"  answered  Markheim. 
"  This  crime  on  which  you  find  me  is  my  last.  On  my  way  to 
it  I  have  learned  many  lessons ;  itself  is  a  lesson,  a  momentous 
lesson.  Hitherto  I  have  been  driven  with  revolt  to  what  I  would 
not;  I  was  a  bond-slave  to  poverty,  driven  and  scourged.  There 
are  robust  virtues  that  can  stand  in  these  temptations ;  mine  was 
not  so :  I  had  a  thirst  of  pleasure.  But  to-day,  and  out  of  this 
deed,  I  pluck  both  warning  and  riches  —  both  the  power  and  a 
fresh  resolve  to  be  myself.  I  become  in  all  things  a  free  actor  in 
the  world ;  I  begin  to  see  myself  all  changed,  these  hands  the 
agents  of  good,  this  heart  at  peace.  Something  comes  over  me 
out  of  the  past ;  something  of  what  I  have  dreamed  on  Sabbath 
evenings  to  the  sound  of  the  church  organ,  of  what  I  forecast 
when  I  shed  tears  over  noble  books,  or  talked,  an  innocent  child, 
with  my  mother.  There  lies  my  life ;  I  have  wandered  a  few 
years,  but  now  I  see  once  more  my  city  of  destination." 

"You  are  to  use  this  money  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  I 
think  ? "  remarked  the  visitor ;  "  and  there,  if  I  mistake  not, 
you  have  already  lost  some  thousands  ? " 


MARKHEIM  225 

"  Ah,"  said  Markheim,  "  but  this  time  I  have  a  sure  thing." 

"  This  time,  again,  you  will  lose,"  replied  the  visitor,  quietly. 

"  Ah,  but  I  keep  back  the  half !  "  cried  Markheim. 

"  That  also  you  will  lose,"  said  the  other. 

The  sweat  started  upon  Markheim's  brow.  "  Well,  then,  what 
matter  ? "  he  exclaimed.  "  Say  it  be  lost,  say  I  am  plunged  again 
in  poverty,  shall  one  part  of  me,  and  that  the  worse,  continue 
until  the  end  to  override  the  better  ?  Evil  and  good  run  strong 
in  me,  haling  me  both  ways.  I  do  not  love  the  one  thing,  I  love 
all.  I  can  conceive  great  deeds,  renunciations,  martyrdoms ;  and 
though  I  be  fallen  to  such  a  crime  as  murder,  pity  is  no  stranger 
to  my  thoughts.  I  pity  the  poor ;  who  knows  their  trials  better 
than  myself  ?  I  pity  and  help  them ;  I  prize  love,  I  love  honest 
laughter ;  there  is  no  good  thing  nor  true  thing  on  earth  but  I 
love  it  from  my  heart.  And  are  my  vices  only  to  direct  my  life, 
and  my  virtues  to  lie  without  effect,  like  some  passive  lumber 
of  the  mind  ?  Not  so  ;  good,  also,  is  a  spring  of  acts." 

But  the  visitant  raised  his  finger.  "  For  six-and-thirty  years 
that  you  have  been  in  this  world,"  said  he,  "  through  many 
changes  of  fortune  and  varieties  of  humor,  I  have  watched  you 
steadily  fall.  Fifteen  years  ago  you  would  have  started  at  a 
theft.  Three  years  back  you  would  have  blenched  at  the  name 
of  murder.  Is  there  any  crime,  is  there  any  cruelty  or  mean- 
ness, from  which  you  still  recoil  ?  —  five  years  from  now  I  shall 
detect  you  in  the  fact !  Downward,  downward,  lies  your  way ; 
nor  can  anything  but  death  avail  to  stop  you." 

"  It  is  true,"  Markheim  said,  huskily,  "  I  have  in  some  de 
gree  complied  with  evil.  But  it  is  so  with  all :  the  very  saints, 
in  the  mere  exercise  of  living,  grow  less  dainty,  and  take  on 
the  tone  of  their  surroundings." 

"I  will  propound  to  you  one  simple  question,"  said  the  other; 
"  and  as  you  answer.  I  shall  read  to  you  your  moral  horoscope. 
You  have  grown  in  many  things  more  lax;  possibly  you  do 


226  SHORT   STORIES 

right  to  be  so ;  and  at  any  account,  it  is  the  same  with  all  men. 
But  granting  that,  are  you  in  any  one  particular,  however  tri- 
fling, more  difficult  to  please  with  your  own  conduct,  or  do  you 
go  in  all  things  with  a  looser  rein  ? " 

"  In  any  one  ? "  repeated  Markheim,  with  an  anguish  of  con- 
sideration. "  No,"  he  added,  with  despair,  "  in  none  1  I  have 
gone  down  in  all." 

"Then,"  said  the  visitor,  "content  yourself  with  what  you 
are,  for  you  will  never  change ;  and  the  words  of  your  part  on 
this  stage  are  irrevocably  written  down." 

Markheim  stood  for  a  long  while  silent,  and  indeed  it  was 
the  visitor  who  first  broke  the  silence.  "  That  being  so,"  he 
said,  "shall  I  show  you  the  money?" 

"  And  grace  ? "  cried  Markheim. 

"  Have  you  not  tried  it  ? "  returned  the  other.  "  Two  or 
three  years  ago,  did  I  not  see  you  on  the  platform  of  revival 
meetings,  and  was  not  your  voice  the  loudest  in  the  hymn  ? " 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Markheim ;  "  and  I  see  clearly  what  re- 
mains for  me  by  way  of  duty.  I  thank  you  for  these  lessons 
from  my  soul :  my  eyes  are  opened,  and  I  behold  myself  at 
last  for  what  I  am." 

At  this  moment,  the  sharp  note  of  the  door-bell  rung  through 
the  house ;  and  the  visitant,  as  though  this  were  some  concerted 
signal  for  which  he  had  been  waiting,  changed  at  once  in  his 
demeanor. 

"  The  maid !  "  he  cried.  "  She  has  returned,  as  I  forewarned 
you,  and  there  is  now  before  you  one  more  difficult  passage. 
Her  master,  you  must  say,  is  ill ;  you  must  let  her  in,  with  an 
assured  but  rather  serious  countenance  —  no  smiles,  no  over- 
acting, and  I  promise  you  success !  Once  the  girl  within,  and 
the  door  closed,  the  same  dexterity  that  has  already  rid  you  of 
the  dealer  will  relieve  you  of  this  last  danger  in  your  path. 
Thenceforward  you  have  the  whole  evening  —  the  whole  night, 


MARKHEIM  22? 

if  needful  —  to  ransack  the  treasures  of  the  house  and  to  make 
good  your  safety.  This  is  help  that  comes  to  you  with  the  mask 
of  danger.  Up ! "  he  cried :  "  up,  friend ;  your  life  hangs 
trembling  in  the  scales  ;  up,  and  act  1 " 

Markheim  steadily  regarded  his  counsellor.  "  If  I  be  con- 
demned to  evil  acts,"  he  said,  "  there  is  still  one  door  of  free- 
dom open  —  I  can  cease  from  action.  If  my  life  be  an  ill  thing, 
I  can  lay  it  down.  Though  I  be,  as  you  say  truly,  at  the  beck 
of  every  small  temptation,  I  can  yet,  by  one  decisive  gesture, 
place  myself  beyond  the  reach  of  all.  My  love  of  good  is 
damned  to  barrenness ;  it  may,  and  let  it  be !  But  I  have  still 
my  hatred  of  evil ;  and  from  that,  to  your  galling  disappoint- 
ment, you  shall  see  that  I  can  draw  both  energy  and  courage." 

The  features  of  the  visitor  began  to  undergo  a  wonderful 
and  lovely  change ;  they  brightened  and  softened  with  a  tender 
triumph ;  and,  even  as  they  brightened,  faded  and  dislimned. 
But  Markheim  did  not  pause  to  watch  or  understand  the  trans- 
formation. He  opened  the  door  and  went  down-stairs  very 
slowly,  thinking  to  himself.  His  past  went  soberly  before  him  ; 
he  beheld  it  as  it  was,  ugly  and  strenuous  like  a  dream,  random 
as  chance-medley  —  a  scene  of  defeat.  Life,  as  he  thus  reviewed 
it,  tempted  him  no  longer  ;  but  on  the  further  side  he  perceived 
a  quiet  haven  for  his  bark.  He  paused  in  the  passage,  and 
looked  into  the  shop,  where  the  candle  still  burned  by  the  dead 
body.  It  was  strangely  silent.  Thoughts  of  the  dealer  swarmed 
into  his  mind,  as  he  stood  gazing.  And  then  the  bell  once  more 
broke  out  into  impatient  clamor. 

He  confronted  the  maid  upon  the  threshold  with  something 
like  a  smile. 

"  You  had  better  go  for  the  police,"  said  he :  "I  have  killed 
your  master." 


X.   THE  NECKLACE1  (1885) 
BY  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT  (1850-1893) 

[Setting.  The  story  is  set  in  a  Paris  atmosphere  of  social 
aspiration  and  discontent.  The  background  is  one  of  studied 
contrasts,  contrasts  between  the  stolid  contentment  of  a  hus- 
band and  the  would-be  luxuriousness  of  a  wife,  between  what 
Madame  Loisel  had  and  what  she  wanted,  between  what  she 
was  and  what  she  thought  she  could  be,  between  her  brief 
moment  of  triumph  and  the  long  years  of  her  undoing,  between 
the  trivialness  of  what  she  did  and  the  heaviness  of  her  punish- 
ment. These  contrasts  are  developed  not  by  reasoning  but  by 
action,  each  action  plunging  Madame  Loisel  deeper  and  deeper 
into  misery.  The  author's  attitude  toward  his  work  forms  also 
a  part  of  the  real  background.  Maupassant  shows  neither  sym- 
pathy nor  indignation.  He  writes  as  if  he  were  the  stenographer 
of  impersonal  and  pitiless  fate. 

Plot.  Madame  Loisel,  a  poor  but  beautiful  and  ambitious 
woman,  borrows  and  loses  a  diamond  necklace  valued  at  $7200. 
That,  at  least,  is  what  Madame  Loisel  thought  for  ten  terrible 
years,  and  that  is  what  the  reader  thinks  till  he  comes  to  the 
last  words  of  the  story,  The  plot  belongs,  therefore,  to  that 
large  group  known  as  hoax  plots.  In  most  of  these  stories  one 
person  plays  a  joke  on  another.  In  this  story  a  grim  fate  is 
made  to  play  the  joke.  In  fact,  the  current  phrase,  "  the  irony 
of  fate,"  finds  here  perfect  illustration.  We  use  the  expression 
not  so  much  of  a  great  misfortune  as  of  a  misfortune  that  seems 
brought  about  by  a  peculiarly  malignant  train  of  circumstances. 
The  injury  in  this  case  not  only  was  irremediable  but  turned 

1  "  La  parure  "  from  "  Contes  et  nouvelles." 
228 


THE  NECKLACE  229 

on  an  accident.  Notice  also  how  Maupassant  has  sharpened 
the  poignancy  and  bitterness  of  Madame  Loisel's  misfortune 
by  making  it  depend  not  only  on  an  accident  that  might  so 
easily  not  have  happened  but  on  a  misunderstanding  that  might 
so  easily  have  been  explained.  When  Madame  Loisel,  just  on 
the  threshold  of  her  life  of  drudgery,  took  the  necklace  bought  on 
credit  to  Madame  Forestier,  the  latter  "  did  not  open  the  case, 
to  the  relief  of  her  friend."  The  irony  of  fate  could  hardly  go 
further;  but  it  does  go  further  a  little  later,  when  Madame 
Forestier,  still  young  and  beautiful,  fails  to  recognize  Madame 
Loisel  because  the  latter  had  lost  youth,  beauty,  daintiness,  her 
very  self,  in  toiling  to  pay  to  Madame  Forestier  a  debt  that  was 
not  a  debt.  Just  before  the  final  revelation  Madame  Loisel  is 
made  to  say,  "  I  am  very  glad."  There  is  a  unique  pathos  in 
her  use  of  this  word :  it  lifted  her  a  little  from  the  ground  that 
her  fall  might  be  all  the  harder. 

There  is  no  denying  the  art  of  this  story,  but  it  is  art  without 
heart.  The  author  is  a  craftsman  rather  than  a  creator,  a  master 
of  the  loom  rather  than  of  the  forge.  Maupassant  did  perfectly 
what  he  wanted  to  do,  but  his  greatness  and  his  limitation  are 
both  revealed.  "  What  would  have  happened,"  he  says,  "  if  she 
had  not  lost  that  necklace?  Who  knows,  who  knows?  How 
strange  life  is,  how  changeful !  How  little  a  thing  is  needed  for 
us  to  be  lost  or  to  be  saved  I "  The  greatest  art  may  begin 
but  not  end  this  way. 

Characters.  The  man  is  only  a  foil  to  his  wife.  He  is  intro- 
duced to  bring  into  sharper  relief  her  unhappiness  and  her 
powerlessness  to  better  her  condition.  He  is  not  a  bad  man, 
nor  is  she  a  bad  woman.  To  say  that  the  story  turns  entirely 
on  his  honor  and  on  her  false  pride  is  to  miss,  I  think,  the 
author's  purpose.  There  i3  nothing  distinctive  in  these  char- 
acters ;  he  is  better  than  she,  but  both  are  puppets  in  the  grip 
of  brute  circumstance  rather  than  everyday  characters  shaped 
by  the  ordinary  pressures  of  life.  They  are  not  types  as  Rip 
is  a  type,  or  Scrooge,  or  Oakhurst.  Maupassant  shows  in  his 


230  SHORT   STORIES 

stories  that  he  is  interested  not  so  much  in  the  free  play  or  the 
full  reaction  of  personality  as  in  the  enslavement  of  personality 
through  passion  or  chance.  He  saw  life  without  order  because 
without  center,  without  reward  because  without  desert ;  and  his 
characters  are  made  to  see  it  through  the  same  lens  and  to 
experience  it  on  the  same  level.  They  either  do  not  react  or  do 
not  react  nobly.  Had  Madame  Loisel  and  her  husband  been 
shaped  to  fit  into  a  less  mechanical  scheme  of  things,  they  would 
have  recognized  in  their  ten  years'  trial  the  call  to  something 
higher.  They  could  have  used  their  testing  as  a  means  of 
understanding  with  keener  sympathy  the  lifelong  testing  of 
others.  They  could  have  attained  a  self-development  that  would 
have  brought  a  happiness  undreamed  of  before  the  fateful 
January  18.  But  this  is  Browning's  way,  not  Maupassant's. 
The  latter  prefers  to  make  Madame  Loisel  and  her  husband 
chiefly  of  putty  so  that  they  may  illustrate  the  blind  thrusts  of 
accident  rather  than  the  power  of  personality  to  turn  stumbling- 
blocks  into  stepping-stones.] 


She  was  one  of  those  pretty  and  charming  girls  who,  as  if  by 
a  mistake  of  destiny,  are  born  in  a  family  of  employees.  She 
had  no  dowry,  no  expectations,  no  means  of  becoming  known, 
understood,  loved,  wedded  by  any  rich  and  distinguished  man ; 
and  so  she  let  herself  be  married  to  a  petty  clerk  in  the  Bureau 
of  Public  Instruction. 

She  was  simple  in  her  dress  because  she  could  not  be  elabo- 
rate, but  she  was  as  unhappy  as  if  she  had  fallen  from  a  higher 
rank,  for  with  women  there  is  no  inherited  distinction  of  higher 
and  lower.  Their  beauty,  their  grace,  and  their  natural  charm 
fill  the  place  of  birth  and  family.  Natural  delicacy,  instinctive 
elegance,  a  lively  wit,  are  the  ruling  forces  in  the  social  realm, 
and  these  make  the  daughters  of  the  common  people  the  equals 
of  the  finest  ladies. 


THE  NECKLACE  231 

She  suffered  intensely,  feeling  herself  born  for  all  the  refine- 
ments and  luxuries  of  life.  She  suffered  from  the  poverty  of 
her  home  as  she  looked  at  the  dirty  walls,  the  worn-out  chairs, 
the  ugly  curtains.  All  those  things  of  which  another  woman  of 
her  station  would  have  been  quite  unconscious  tortured  her  and 
made  her  indignant.  The  sight  of  the  country  girl  who  was 
maid-of-all-work  in  her  humble  household  filled  her  almost  with 
desperation.  She  dreamed  of  echoing  halls  hung  with  Oriental 
draperies  and  lighted  by  tall  bronze  candelabra,  while  two  tall 
footmen  in  knee-breeches  drowsed  in  great  armchairs  by  reason 
of  the  heating  stove's  oppressive  warmth.  She  dreamed  of 
splendid  parlors  furnished  in  rare  old  silks,  of  carved  cabinets 
loaded  with  priceless  bric-a-brac,  and  of  entrancing  little  bou- 
doirs just  right  for  afternoon  chats  with  bosom  friends  —  men 
famous  and  sought  after,  the  envy  and  the  desire  of  all  the 
other  women. 

When  she  sat  down  to  dinner  at  a  little  table  covered  with 
a  cloth  three  days  old,  and  looked  across  at  her  husband 
as  he  uncovered  the  soup  and  exclaimed  with  an  air  of  rapt- 
ure, "  Oh,  the  delicious  stew  1  I  know  nothing  better  than 
that,"  she  dreamed  of  dainty  dinners,  of  shining  silverware, 
of  tapestries  which  peopled  the  walls  with  antique  figures  and 
strange  birds  in  fairy  forests ;  she  dreamed  of  delicious  viands 
served  in  wonderful  dishes,  of  whispered  gallantries  heard  with 
a  sphinx-like  smile  as  you  eat  the  pink  flesh  of  a  trout  or  the 
wing  of  a  quail. 

She  had  no  dresses,  no  jewels,  nothing;  and  she  loved  noth- 
ing else.  She  felt  made  for  that  alone.  She  was  filled  with  a 
desire  to  please,  to  be  envied,  to  be  bewitching  and  sought  after. 
She  had  a  rich  friend,  a  former  schoolmate  at  the  convent,  whom 
she  no  longer  wished  to  visit  because  she  suffered  so  much  when 
she  came  home.  For  whole  days  at  a  time  she  wept  without 
ceasing  in  bitterness  and  hopeless  misery. 


232  SHORT   STORIES 

Now,  one  evening  her  husband  came  home  with  a  triumphant 
air,  holding  in  his  hand  a  large  envelope. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  there  is  something  for  you." 

She  quickly  tore  open  the  paper  and  drew  out  a  printed  card, 
bearing  these  words :  — 

"  The  Minister  of  Public  Instruction  and  Mme.  Georges  Ram- 
pouneau  request  the  honor  of  M.  and  Mme.  LoisePs  company 
at  the  palace  of  the  Ministry,  Monday  evening,  January  i8th." 

Instead  of  being  overcome  with  delight,  as  her  husband 
expected,  she  threw  the  invitation  on  the  table  with  disdain, 
murmuring : 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  with  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  my  dear,  I  thought  you  would  be  pleased.  You  never 
go  out,  and  this  is  such  a  fine  opportunity !  I  had  awful  trouble 
in  getting  it.  Every  one  wants  to  go ;  it  is  very  select,  and  they 
are  not  giving  many  invitations  to  clerks.  You  will  see  all  the 
official  world." 

She  looked  at  him  with  irritation,  and  said,  impatiently: 

"  What  do  you  expect  me  to  put  on  my  back  if  I  go  ? " 

He  had  not  thought  of  that.    He  stammered : 

"  Why,  the  dress  you  go  to  the  theatre  in.  It  seems  all  right 
to  me." 

He  stopped,  stupefied,  distracted,  on  seeing  that  his  wife  was 
crying.  Two  great  tears  descended  slowly  from  the  corners  of 
her  eyes  toward  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  He  stuttered : 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?   What 's  the  matter  ?  " 

By  a  violent  effort  she  subdued  her  feelings  and  replied  in  a 
calm  voice,  as  she  wiped  her  wet  cheeks : 

"  Nothing.  Only  I  have  no  dress  and  consequently  I  cannot 
go  to  this  ball.  Give  your  invitation  to  some  friend  whose  wife 
has  better  clothes  than  I." 

He  was  in  despair,  but  began  again : 

"  Let  us  see,  Mathilde.    How  much  would  it  cost,  a  suitable 


THE  NECKLACE  233 

dress,  which  you  could  wear  again  on  future  occasions,  some- 
thing very  simple  ? " 

She  reflected  for  some  seconds,  computing  the  cost,  and  also 
wondering  what  sum  she  could  ask  without  bringing  down  upon 
herself  an  immediate  refusal  and  an  astonished  exclamation  from 
the  economical  clerk. 

At  last  she  answered  hesitatingly : 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  with  four 
hundred  francs  I  could  manage." 

He  turned  a  trifle  pale,  for  he  had  been  saving  just  that  sum 
to  buy  a  gun  and  treat  himself  to  a  little  hunting  trip  the  follow- 
ing summer,  in  the  country  near  Nanterre,  with  a  few  friends 
who  went  there  to  shoot  larks  on  Sundays. 

However,  he  said : 

"  Well,  I  think  I  can  give  you  four  hundred  francs.  But  see 
that  you  have  a  pretty  dress." 

The  day  of  the  ball  drew  near,  and  Madame  Loisel  seemed 
sad,  restless,  anxious.  Her  dress  was  ready,  however.  Her 
husband  said  to  her  one  evening : 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  Come,  now,  you  Ve  been  looking  queer 
these  last  three  days." 

And  she  replied : 

"  It  worries  me  that  I  have  no  jewels,  not  a  single  stone, 
nothing  to  put  on.  I  shall  look  wretched  enough.  I  would 
almost  rather  not  go  to  this  party." 

He  answered : 

"  You  might  wear  natural  flowers.  They  are  very  fashion- 
able this  season.  For  ten  francs  you  can  get  two  or  three 
magnificent  loses." 

She  was  not  convinced. 

"  No ;  there  is  nothing  more  humiliating  than  to  look  poor 
among  a  lot  of  rich  women." 


234  SHORT   STORIES 

But  her  husband  cried : 

"  How  stupid  you  are !  Go  and  find  your  friend  Madame 
Forestier  and  ask  her  to  lend  you  some  jewels.  You  are 
intimate  enough  with  her  for  that." 

She  uttered  a  cry  of  joy. 

"  Of  course.    I  had  not  thought  of  that." 

The  next  day  she  went  to  her  friend's  house  and  told 
her  distress. 

Madame  Forestier  went  to  her  handsome  wardrobe,  took 
out  a  large  casket,  brought  it  back,  opened  it,  and  said  to 
Madame  Loisel: 

"  Choose,  my  dear." 

She  saw  first  of  all  some  bracelets,  then  a  pearl  necklace, 
then  a  Venetian  cross  of  gold  set  with  precious  stones  of  won- 
derful workmanship.  She  tried  on  the  ornaments  before  the 
glass,  hesitated,  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  part  with  them, 
to  give  them  back.  She  kept  asking : 

"  You  have  nothing  else  ? " 

"  Why,  yes.    But  I  do  not  know  what  will  please  you." 

All  at  once  she  discovered,  in  a  black  satin  box,  a  splendid 
diamond  necklace,  and  her  heart  began  to  beat  with  boundless 
desire.  Her  hands  trembled  as  she  took  it.  She  fastened  it 
around  her  throat,  over  her  high-necked  dress,  and  stood  lost 
in  ecstasy  as  she  looked  at  herself. 

Then  she  asked,  hesitating,  full  of  anxiety : 

"  Would  you  lend  me  that,  —  only  that  ? " 

"  Why,  yes,  certainly." 

She  sprang  upon  the  neck  of  her  friend,  embraced  her 
rapturously,  then  fled  with  her  treasure. 

The  day  of  the  ball  arrived.  Madame  Loisel  was  a  success. 
She  was  prettier  than  all  the  others,  elegant,  gracious,  smiling, 
and  crazy  with  joy.  All  the  men  stared  at  her,  asked  her  name, 


THE  NECKLACE  235 

tried  to  be  introduced.  All  the  cabinet  officials  wished  to  waltz 
with  her.  The  minister  noticed  her. 

She  danced  with  delight,  with  passion,  intoxicated  with 
pleasure,  forgetting  all  in  the  triumph  of  her  beauty,  in  the 
glory  of  her  success,  in  a  sort  of  mist  of  happiness,  the  result 
of  all  this  homage,  all  this  admiration,  all  these  awakened 
desires,  this  victory  so  complete  and  so  sweet  to  the  heart 
of  woman. 

She  left  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Her  husband  had 
been  dozing  since  midnight  in  a  little  deserted  anteroom  with 
three  other  gentlemen,  whose  wives  were  having  a  good  time. 

He  threw  about  her  shoulders  the  wraps  which  he  had 
brought  for  her  to  go  out  in,  the  modest  wraps  of  common 
life,  whose  poverty  contrasted  sharply  with  the  elegance  of  the 
ball  dress.  She  felt  this  and  wished  to  escape,  that  she  might 
not  be  noticed  by  the  other  women  who  were  wrapping 
themselves  in  costly  furs. 

Loisel  held  her  back. 

"  Wait  here,  you  will  catch  cold  outside.  I  will  go  and  find 
a  cab." 

But  she  would  not  listen  to  him,  and  rapidly  descended  the 
stairs.  When  they  were  at  last  in  the  street,  they  could  find 
no  carriage,  and  began  to  look  for  one,  hailing  the  cabmen 
they  saw  passing  at  a  distance. 

They  walked  down  toward  the  Seine  in  despair,  shivering 
with  the  cold.  At  last  they  found  on  the  quay  one  of  those 
ancient  nocturnal  cabs  that  one  sees  in  Paris  only  after  dark, 
as  if  they  were  ashamed  to  display  their  wretchedness  during 
the  day. 

They  were  put  down  at  their  door  in  the  Rue  des  Martyrs, 
and  sadly  mounted  the  steps  to  their  apartments.  It  was  all 
over,  for  her.  And  as  for  him,  he  reflected  that  he  must  be  at 
his  office  at  ten  o'clock. 


236  SHORT  STORIES 

She  took  off  the  wraps  which  covered  her  shoulders,  before 
the  mirror,  so  as  to  take  a  final  look  at  herself  in  all  her 
glory.  But  suddenly  she  uttered  a  cry.  She  no  longer  had  the 
necklace  about  her  neckl 

Her  husband,  already  half  undressed,  inquired : 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? " 

She  turned  madly  toward  him. 

"  I  have  —  I  have  —  I  no  longer  have  Madame  Forestier's 
necklace." 

He  stood  up,  distracted. 

"  What !  —  how !  —  it  is  impossible !  " 

They  looked  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  in  the  folds  of  her 
cloak,  in  the  pockets,  everywhere.  They  could  not  find  a 
trace  of  it. 

He  asked : 

"  You  are  sure  you  still  had  it  when  you  left  the  ball  ? " 

"  Yes.    I  felt  it  on  me  in  the  vestibule  at  the  palace." 

"  But  if  you  had  lost  it  in  the  street  we  should  have  heard 
it  fall.  It  must  be  in  the  cab." 

"  Yes.    That 's  probable.    Did  you  take  the  number  ? " 

"  No.    And  you,  you  did  not  notice  it  ?  " 

"  No." 

They  looked  at  each  other  thunderstruck.  At  last  Loisel 
put  on  his  clothes  again. 

"  I  am  going  back,"  said  he,  "  over  every  foot  of  the  way  we 
came,  to  see  if  I  cannot  find  it." 

So  he  started.  She  remained  in  her  ball  dress  without  strength 
to  go  to  bed,  sitting  on  a  chair,  with  no  fire,  her  mind  a  blank. 

Her  husband  returned  about  seven  o'clock. '  He  had  found 
nothing. 

He  went  to  police  headquarters,  to  the  newspapers  to  offer 
a  reward,  to  the  cab  companies,  everywhere,  in  short,  where 
a  trace  of  hope  led  him. 


THE  NECKLACE  237 

She  watched  all  day,  in  the  same  state  of  blank  despair 
before  this  frightful  disaster. 

Loisel  returned  in  the  evening  with  cheeks  hollow  and  pale ; 
he  had  found  nothing. 

"  You  must  write  to  your  friend,"  said  he,  "  that  you  have 
broken  the  clasp  of  her  necklace  and  that  you  are  having  it 
repaired.  It  will  give  us  time  to  turn  around." 

She  wrote  as  he  dictated. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  they  had  lost  all  hope. 

And  Loisel,  looking  five  years  older,  declared : 

"  We  must  consider  how  to  replace  the  necklace." 

The  next  day  they  took  the  box  which,  had  contained  it,  and 
went  to  the  place  of  the  jeweller  whose  name  they  found  inside. 
He  consulted  his  books. 

"  It  was  not  I,  madame,  who  sold  the  necklace ;  I  must 
simply  have  furnished  the  casket." 

Then  they  went  from  jeweller  to  jeweller,  looking  for  an 
ornament  like  the  other,  consulting  their  memories,  both  sick 
with  grief  and  anguish. 

They  found,  in  a  shop  at  the  Palais  Royal,  a  string  of  dia- 
monds which  seemed  to  them  exactly  what  they  were  looking 
for.  It  was  worth  forty  thousand  francs.1  They  could  have  it 
for  thirty-six  thousand. 

So  they  begged  the  jeweller  not  to  sell  it  for  three  days. 
And  they  made  an  arrangement  that  he  should  take  it  back 
for  thirty-four  thousand  francs  if  the  other  were  found  before 
the  end  of  February. 

Loisel  had  eighteen  thousand  francs  which  his  father  had 
left  him.  He  would  borrow  the  rest. 

He  did  borrow,  asking  a  thousand  francs  of  one,  five  hundred 
of  another,  five  louis  here,  three  louis  there.  He  gave  notes,  made 

1  A  franc  is  equal  to  twenty  cents  of  our  money. 


238  SHORT   STORIES 

ruinous  engagements,  dealt  with  usurers,  with  all  the  tribe  of 
money-lenders.  He  compromised  the  rest  of  his  life,  risked  his 
signature  without  knowing  if  he  might  not  be  involving  his  honor, 
and,  terrified  by  the  anguish  yet  to  come,  by  the  black  misery 
about  to  fall  upon  him,  by  the  prospect  of  every  physical  priva- 
tion and  every  mental  torture,  he  went  to  get  the  new  necklace, 
and  laid  down  on  the  dealer's  counter  thirty-six  thousand  francs. 

When  Madame  Loisel  took  the  necklace  back  to  Madame 
Forestier,  the  latter  said  coldly : 

"  You  should  have  returned  it  sooner,  for  I  might  have 
needed  it." 

She  did  not  open  the  case,  to  the  relief  of  her  friend.  If  she 
had  detected  the  substitution,  what  would  she  have  thought? 
What  would  she  have  said  ?  Would  she  have  taken  her  friend 
for  a  thief  ? 

Madame  Loisel  now  knew  the  horrible  life  of  the  needy. 
But  she  took  her  part  heroically.  They  must  pay  this  frightful 
debt  She  would  pay  it.  They  dismissed  their  maid ;  they  gave 
up  their  room ;  they  rented  another,  under  the  roof. 

She  came  to  know  the  drudgery  of  housework,  the  odious 
labors  of  the  kitchen.  She  washed  the  dishes,  staining  her  rosy 
nails  on  the  greasy  pots  and  the  bottoms  of  the  saucepans. 
She  washed  the  dirty  linen,  the  shirts  and  the  dishcloths,  which 
she  hung  to  dry  on  a  line ;  she  carried  the  garbage  down  to 
the  street  every  morning,  and  carried  up  the  water,  stopping 
at  each  landing  to  rest.  And,  dressed  like  a  woman  of  the 
people,  she  went  to  the  fruiterer's,  the  grocer's,  the  butcher's, 
her  basket  on  her  arm,  bargaining,  abusing,  defending  sou *  by 
sou  her  miserable  money. 

Each  month  they  had  to  pay  some  notes,  renew  others, 
obtain  more  time. 

1  A  sou,  or  five-centime  piece,  is  equal  to  one  cent  of  our  money. 


THE  NECKLACE  239 

The  husband  worked  every  evening,  neatly  footing  up  the 
account  books  of  some  tradesman,  and  often  far  into  the  night 
he  sat  copying  manuscript  at  five  sous  a  page. 

And  this  life  lasted  ten  years. 

At  the  end  of  ten  years  they  had  paid  everything,  —  every- 
thing, with  the  exactions  of  usury  and  the  accumulations  of 
compound  interest. 

Madame  Loisel  seemed  aged  now.  She  had  become  the 
woman  of  impoverished  households,  —  strong  and  hard  and 
rough.  With  hair  half  combed,  with  skirts  awry,  and  reddened 
hands,  she  talked  loud  as  she  washed  the  floor  with  great 
swishes  of  water.  But  sometimes,  when  her  husband  was  at 
the  office,  she  sat  down  near  the  window  and  thought  of  that 
evening  at  the  ball  so  long  ago,  when  she  had  been  so  beautiful 
and  so  admired. 

What  would  have  happened  if  she  had  not  lost  that  neck- 
lace ?  Who  knows,  who  knows  ?  How  strange  life  is,  how 
changeful !  How  little  a  thing  is  needed  for  us  to  be  lost  or 
to  be  saved! 

But  one  Sunday,  as  she  was  going  for  a  walk  in  the  Champs 
filysees  to  refresh  herself  after  the  labors  of  the  week,  all  at 
once  she  saw  a  woman  walking  with  a  child.  It  was  Madame 
Forestier,  still  young,  still  beautiful,  still  charming. 

Madame  Loisel  was  agitated.  Should  she  speak  to  her  ? 
Why,  of  course.  And  now  that  she  had  paid,  she  would  tell 
her  all.  Why  not? 

She  drew  near. 

"  Good  morning,  Jeanne." 

The  other,  astonished  to  be  addressed  so  familiarly  by  this 
woman  of  the  people,  did  not  recognize  her.  She  stammered : 

"  But  —  madame  —  I  do  not  know  you.  You  must  have 
made  a  mistake." 


240  SHORT   STORIES 

"  No,  I  am  Mathilda  Loisel." 

Her  friend  uttered  a  cry. 

"  Oh !  my  poor  Mathilde,  how  changed  you  are !  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  had  days  hard  enough  since  I  saw  you,  days 
wretched  enough  —  and  all  because  of  you!" 

"Me?   How  so?" 

"  You  remember  that  necklace  of  diamonds  that  you  lent 
me  to  wear  to  the  ministerial  ball?" 

"Yes.   Well?" 

"  Well,  I  lost  it." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?   You  returned  it  to  me." 

"  I  returned  to  you  another  exactly  like  it.  These  ten  years 
we  Ve  been  paying  for  it.  You  know  it  was  not  easy  for  us, 
who  had  nothing.  At  last  it  is  over,  and  I  am  very  glad." 

Madame  Forestier  was  stunned. 

"You  say  that  you  bought  a  diamond  necklace  to  replace 
mine  ? " 

"  Yes ;  you  did  not  notice  it,  then  ?   They  were  just  alike." 

And  she  smiled  with  a  proud  and  naive  pleasure. 

Madame  Forestier,  deeply  moved,  took  both  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  my  poor  Mathilde !  Why,  my  necklace  was  paste.  It 
was  worth  five  hundred  francs  at  most." 


XL   THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE 
KING1  (1888) 

BY  RUDYARD  KIPLING  (1865-        ) 

{Setting.  "  They  call  it  Kafiristan,"  said  Dravot,  the  unfortu- 
nate hero  of  the  story.  "  By  my  reckoning  it 's  the  top  right- 
hand  corner  of  Afghanistan,  not  more  than  three  hundred  miles 
from  Peshawar."  Determined  to  be  Kings  of  Kafiristan, 
Carnehan  and  Dravot  started  probably  from  the  capital  of 
the  Punjab,  Lahore,  where  the  newspaper  office  seems  to  have 
been.  Ten  miles  west  of  Peshawar  they  entered  the  famous 
Khaiber  (or  Khyber)  Pass,  a  region  which  Kipling  describes 
more  at  length  in  "  The  Man  Who  Was,"  "  The  Drums  of  the 
Fore  and  Aft,"  "  The  Lost  Legion,"  "  Love  o'  Women,"  "  Wee 
Willie  Winkie,"  and  "With  the  Main  Guard."  No  country  in 
Asia  is  less  known  to  civilization  than  Kafiristan.  The  Moham- 
medan traders  say  that  it  is  the  most  attractive  part  of  Afghan- 
istan. The  name  means  "  country  of  unbelievers,"  the  Kafirs 
having  resisted  all  attempts  to  convert  them  to  the  Mohamme- 
dan faith.  They  are  pure  'Aryans,  being  thus  brothers  to  the 
Greeks,  Romans,  Germans,  English,  and  ourselves.  They  are 
noted  for  their  beauty  and  strength.  India  or  rather  Anglo- 
India  has  been  almost  rediscovered  by  Kipling;  but  this  is  his 
only  story  of  Kafiristan.  It  too,  as  Carnehan  and  Dravot  learn 
to  their  sorrow,  is  a  land  of  impenetrable  mystery. 

Plot.  The  real  plot  does  not  begin  to  unfold  itself  until 
Carnehan,  wrecked  in  body  and  mind,  returns  to  the  news- 
paper office  and  tries  to  report  his  experiences.  Thus  nearly 
one  half  of  the  story  may  be  called  introductory  or  preliminary. 

1  From  "  The  Phantom  'Rickshaw." 

241 


242  SHORT   STORIES 

This  is  unusual  with  Kipling  and  with  all  other  modem  story 
writers.  The  introduction  justifies  itself,  however,  in  this  case 
because,  since  a  half-crazed  man  with  weakening  memory  is  to 
tell  the  real  tale,  his  narrative  would  have  to  be  supplemented 
by  explanations  on  nearly  every  page  unless  the  introductory 
part  could  be  taken  for  granted.  Notice  how  often  in  reading 
Carnehan's  broken  story  you  supply  what  he  omits  and  inter- 
pret what  he  only  fragmentarily  says  by  reference  to  what  has 
gone  before. 

Kipling  has  done  more  in  this  story  than  to  present  a  char- 
acter of  limitless  audacity.  He  has  impressed  again  one  of  his 
favorite  teachings.  There  is,  he  holds,  a  barrier  between  East 
and  West  that  can  never  be  crossed.  The  West  can  go  so  far 
with  the  East  but  no  farther.  Brave  men  of  the  West  may 
conquer  the  East  and  rule  it,  but  to  take  liberties  with  it  is  to 
uncover  a  vast  realm  of  the  unknown  and  to  invite  disaster.  In 
"  The  Return  of  Imray,"  a  good-natured  Englishman  pats  the 
head  of  Bahadur  Khan's  child  and  is  killed  for  it.  Another 
Englishman,  in  "  Beyond  the  Pale,"  thought  that  he  understood 
the  heart  of  India,  and  here  is  his  epitaph :  "  He  took  too  deep 
an  interest  in  native  life,  but  he  will  never  do  so  again."  Dravot 
could  play  king  and  even  god  in  Kafiristan,  but  when  he  exposed 
himself  ignorantly  to  an  old  racial  superstition  he  met  instant 
and  inevitable  destruction. 

Characters.  Carnehan  tells  the  story,  but  Dravot  is  the  ener- 
gizing character.  Captain  James  Cook,  the  discoverer  of  the 
Sandwich  Islands,  is  plainly  the  original  of  Dravot  Read  the 
thirtieth  chapter  of  the  second  volume  of  Mark  Twain's  "  Rough- 
ing It"  (1872)  and  you  will  find  Kipling's  story  clearly  out- 
lined. One  cannot  withhold  a  measure  of  admiration  for  this 
type  of  uncontrolled  audacity.  Dravot  was  not  bad  at  heart,  he 
was  only  boundless,  a  type  of  the  adventurer  that  has  given 
many  a  fascinating  chapter  to  history  as  well  as  to  literature. 
In  "The  Research  Magnificent,"  by  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells,  the 
hero,  Benham,  says  :  "  I  think  what  I  want  is  to  be  king  of  the 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  243 

world.  ...  It  is  the  very  core  of  me.  ...  I  mean  to  be  a  king 
in  this  earth.  King.  I'm  not  mad."  His  motive,  however,  is 
very  different  from  Dravot's.  "  I  see  the  world,"  he  continues, 
"  staggering  from  misery  to  misery,  and  there  is  little  wisdom, 
less  rule,  folly,  prejudice,  limitation  .  .  .  and  it  is  my  world  and 
I  am  responsible.  ...  As  soon  as  your  kingship  is  plain  to  you, 
there  is  no  more  rest,  no  peace,  no  delight,  except  in  work,  in 
service,  in  utmost  effort."  The  three  weaknesses  to  be  over- 
come are  Fear,  Indulgence,  and  Jealousy.  Both  Dravot  and 
Benham  fail  and  the  comment  of  each  on  his  own  failure  is  an 
autobiography.  Benham :  "  I  can  feel  that  greater  world  I 
shall  never  see  as  one  feels  the  dawn  coming  through  the  last 
darkness."  Dravot:  "We've  had  a  dashed  fine  run  for  our 
money.  What 's  coming  next  ? "] 


Brother  to  a  Prince  and  fellow  to  a  beggar  if  he  be  found  worthy. 

The  Law,  as  quoted,  lays  down  a  fair  conduct  of  life,  and 
one  not  easy  to  follow.  I  have  been  fellow  to  a  beggar  again 
and  again  under  circumstances  which  prevented  either  of  us 
finding  out  whether  the  other  was  worthy.  I  have  still  to  be 
brother  to  a  Prince,  though  I  once  came  near  to  kinship  with 
what  might  have  been  a  veritable  King  and  was  promised  the 
reversion  of  a  Kingdom  —  army,  law-courts,  revenue  and  policy 
all  complete.  But,  to-day,  I  greatly  fear  that  my  King  is  dead, 
and  if  I  want  a  crown  I  must  go  hunt  it  for  myself. 

The  beginning  of  everything  was  in  a  railway  train  upon  the 
road  to  Mhow  from  Ajmir.  There  had  been  a  Deficit  in  the 
Budget,  which  necessitated  travelling,  not  Second-class,  which  is 
only  half  as  dear  as  First-class,  but  by  Intermediate,  which 
is  very  awful  indeed.  There  are  no  cushions  in  the  Intermediate 
class,  and  the  population  are  either  Intermediate,  which  is 
Eurasian,  or  native,  which  for  a  long  night  journey  is  nasty,  or 


244  SHORT   STORIES 

Loafer,  which  is  amusing  though  intoxicated.  Intermediates  do 
not  buy  from  refreshment-rooms.  They  carry  their  food  in 
bundles  and  pots,  and  buy  sweets  from  the  native  sweetmeat- 
sellers,  and  drink  the  roadside  water.  That  is  why  in  hot 
weather  Intermediates  are  taken  out  of  the  carriages  dead,  and 
in  all  weathers  are  most  properly  looked  down  upon. 

My  particular  Intermediate  happened  to  be  empty  till  I 
reached  Nasirabad,  when  a  big  black-browed  gentleman  in 
shirt-sleeves  entered,  and,  following  the  custom  of  Intermedi- 
ates, passed  the  time  of  day.  He  was  a  wanderer  and  a  vaga- 
bond like  myself,  but  with  an  educated  taste  for  whiskey.  He 
told  tales  of  things  he  had  seen  and  done,  of  out-of-the-way 
corners  of  the  Empire  into  which  he  had  penetrated,  and  of 
adventures  in  which  he  risked  his  life  for  a  few  days'  food. 

"  If  India  was  rilled  with  men  like  you  and  me,  not  know- 
ing more  than  the  crows  where  they'd  get  their  next  day's 
rations,  it  isn't  seventy  millions  of  revenue  the  land  would 
be  paying  —  it 's  seven  hundred  millions,"  said  he ;  and  as 
I  looked  at  his  mouth  and  chin  I  was  disposed  to  agree 
with  him. 

We  talked  politics  —  the  politics  of  Loaferdom  that  sees 
things  from  the  underside  where  the  lath  and  plaster  is  not 
smoothed  off  —  and  we  talked  postal  arrangements  because  my 
friend  wante'd  to  send  a  telegram  back  from  the  next  station  to 
Ajmir,  the  turning-off  place  from  the  Bombay  to  the  Mhow 
line  as  you  travel  westward.  My  friend  had  no  money  beyond 
eight  annas  which  he  wanted  for  dinner,  and  I  had  no  money 
at  all,  owing  to  the  hitch  in  the  Budget  before  mentioned. 
Further,  I  was  going  into  a  wilderness  where,  though  I  should 
resume  touch  with  the  Treasury,  there  were  no  telegraph  offices. 
I  was,  therefore,  unable  to  help  him  in  any  way. 

"We  might  threaten  a  Station-master,  and  make  him  send 
a  wire  on  tick,"  said  my  friend,  "  but  that  'd  mean  enquiries 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  245 

for  you  and  for  me,  and  /'ve  got  my  hands  full  these  days. 
Did  you  say  you  were  travelling  back  along  this  line  within 
any  days  ? " 

"  Within  ten,"  I  said. 

"  Can't  you  make  it  eight  ? "  said  he.  "  Mine  is  rather  urgent 
business." 

"  I  can  send  your  telegram  within  ten  days  if  that  will  serve 
you,"  I  said. 

"  I  could  n't  trust  the  wire  to  fetch  him  now  I  think  of  it. 
It 's  this  way.  He  leaves  Delhi  on  the  23rd  for  Bombay.  That 
means  he  '11  be  running  through  Ajmir  about  the  night  of 
the  23rd." 

"  But  I'm  going  into  the  Indian  Desert,"  I  explained. 

"  Well  and  good,"  said  he.  "  You  '11  be  changing  at  Marwar 
Junction  to  get  into  Jodhpore  territory  —  you  must  do  that  — 
and  he'll  be  coming  through  Marwar  Junction  in  the  early 
morning  of  the  24th  by  the  Bombay  Mail.  Can  you  be  at 
Marwar  Junction  on  that  time  ?  'T  won't  be  inconveniencing 
you  because  I  know  that  there  's  precious  few  pickings  to  be 
got  out  of  these  Central  India  States  —  even  though  you  pretend 
to  be  correspondent  or  the  Backwoodsman" 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  that  trick  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Again  and  again,  but  the  Residents  find  you  out,  and  then 
you  get  escorted  to  the  Border  before  you  've  time  to  get  your 
knife  into  them.  But  about  my  friend  here.  I  must  give  him 
a  word  o'  mouth  to  tell  him  what 's  come  to  me  or  else  he  won't 
know  where  to  go.  I  would  take  it  more  than  kind  of  you  if 
you  was  to  come  out  of  Central  India  in  time  to  catch  him  at 
Marwar  Junction,  and  say  to  him  :  *  He  has  gone  South  for  the 
week.'  He'll  know  what  that  means.  He's  a  big  man  with 
a  red  beard,  and  a  great  swell  he  is.  You  '11  find  him  sleeping 
like  a  gentleman  with  all  his  luggage  round  him  in  a  Second- 
class  apartment.  But  don't  you  be  afraid.  Slip  down  the 


246  SHORT   STORIES 

window  and  say :  *  He  has  gone  South  for  the  week/  and  he  '11 
tumble.  It 's  only  cutting  your  time  of  stay  in  those  parts  by 
two  days.  I  ask  you  as  a  stranger  —  going  to  the  West,"  he 
said  with  emphasis. 

"  Where  have  you  come  from  ?  "  said  I. 

"  From  the  East,"  said  he,  "  and  I  am  hoping  that  you  will 
give  him  the  message  on  the  Square  —  for  the  sake  of  my 
Mother  as  well  as  your  own." 

Englishmen  are  not  usually  softened  by  appeals  to  the  mem- 
ory of  their  mothers ;  but  for  certain  reasons,  which  will  be 
fully  apparent,  I  saw  fit  to  agree. 

"  It 's  more  than  a  little  matter,"  said  he,  "  and  that 's  why 
I  asked  you  to  do  it  —  and  now  I  know  that  I  can  depend  on 
you  doing  it.  A  Second-class  carriage  at  Marwar  Junction,  and 
a  red-haired  man  asleep  in  it.  You  '11  be  sure  to  remember.  I 
get  out  at  the  next  station,  and  I  must  hold  on  there  till  he 
comes  or  sends  me  what  I  want." 

"  I  '11  give  the  message  if  I  catch  him,"  I  said,  "  and  for  the 
sake  of  your  Mother  as  well  as  mine  I  '11  give  you  a  word  of 
advice.  Don't  try  to  run  the  Central  India  States  just  now  as 
the  correspondent  of  the  Backwoodsman.  There's  a  real  one 
knocking  about  here,  and  it  might  lead  to  trouble." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he,  simply,  "  and  when  will  the  swine  be 
gone  ?  I  can't  starve  because  he  's  ruining  my  work.  I  wanted 
to  get  hold  of  the  Degumber  Rajah  down  here  about  his  father's 
widow,  and  give  him  a  jump." 

"  What  did  he  do  to  his  father's  widow,  then  ? " 

"  Filled  her  up  with  red  pepper  and  slippered  her  to  death 
as  she  hung  from  a  beam.  I  found  that  out  myself  and  I'm  the 
only  man  that  would  dare  going  into  the  State  to  get  hush- 
money  for  it.  They  '11  try  to  poison  me,  same  as  they  did  in 
Chortumna  when  I  went  on  the  loot  there.  But  you  '11  give  the 
man  at  Marwar  Junction  my  message  ? " 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  247 

He  got  out  at  a  little  roadside  station,  and  I  reflected.  I  had 
heard,  more  than  once,  of  men  personating  correspondents  of 
newspapers  and  bleeding  small  Native  States  with  threats  of 
exposure,  but  I  had  never  met  any  of  the  caste  before.  They 
lead  a  hard  life,  and  generally  die  with  great  suddenness.  The 
Native  States  have  a  wholesome  horror  of  English  newspapers, 
which  may  throw  light  on  their  peculiar  methods  of  govern- 
ment, and  do  their  best  to  choke  correspondents  with  cham- 
pagne, or  drive  them  out  of  their  mind  with  four-in-hand 
barouches.  They  do  not  understand  that  nobody  cares  a  straw 
for  the  internal  administration  of  Native  States  so  long  as 
oppression  and  crime  are  kept  within  decent  limits,  and  the 
ruler  is  not  drugged,  drunk,  or  diseased  from  one  end  of  the 
year  to  the  other.  They  are  the  dark  places  of  the  earth,  full 
of  unimaginable  cruelty,  touching  the  Railway  and  the  Tele- 
graph on  one  side,  and,  on  the  other,  the  days  of  Harun-al- 
Raschid  When  I  left  the  train  I  did  business  with  divers 
Kings,  and  in  eight  days  passed  through  many  changes  of  life. 
Sometimes  I  wore  dress-clothes  and  consorted  with  Princes  and 
Politicals,  drinking  from  crystal  and  eating  from  silver.  Some- 
times I  lay  out  upon  the  ground  and  devoured  what  I  could  get, 
from  a  plate  made  of  leaves,  and  drank  the  running  water,  and 
slept  under  the  same  rug  as  my  servant.  It  was  all  in  the  day's 
work. 

Then  I  headed  for  the  Great  Indian  Desert  upon  the  proper 
date,  as  I  had  promised,  and  the  night  Mail  set  me  down  at 
Marwar  Junction,  where  a  funny  little,  happy-go-lucky,  native- 
managed  railway  runs  to  Jodhpore.  The  Bombay  Mail  from 
Delhi  makes  a  short  halt  at  Marwar.  She  arrived  as  I  got  in, 
and  I  had  just  time  to  hurry  to  her  platform  and  go  down  the 
carriages.  There  was  only  one  Second-class  on  the  train.  I 
slipped  the  window  and  looked  down  upon  a  flaming  red  beard, 
half  covered  by  a  railway  rug.  That  was  my  man,  fast  asleep, 


248  SHORT  STORIES 

and  I  dug  him  gently  in  the  ribs.  He  woke  with  a  grunt  and 
I  saw  his  face  in  the  light  of  the  lamps.  It  was  a  great  and 
shining  face. 

"  Tickets  again  ? "  said  he. 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  I  am  to  tell  you  that  he  is  gone  South  for 
the  week.  He  has  gone  South  for  the  week !  " 

The  train  had  begun  to  move  out.  The  red  man  rubbed  his 
eyes.  "  He  has  gone  South  for  the  week,"  he  repeated.  "  Now 
that 's  just  like  his  impidence.  Did  he  say  that  I  was  to  give 
you  anything?  'Cause  I  won't." 

"  He  did  n't,"  I  said  and  dropped  away,  and  watched  the 
red  lights  die  out  in  the  dark.  It  was  horribly  cold  because  the 
wind  was  blowing  off  the  sands.  I  climbed  into  my  own  train 
— not  an  Intermediate  carriage  this  time  —  and  went  to  sleep. 

If  the  man  with  the  beard  had  given  me  a  rupee  I  should 
have  kept  it  as  a  memento  of  a  rather  curious  affair.  But  the 
consciousness  of  having  done  my  duty  was  my  only  reward. 

Later  on  I  reflected  that  two  gentlemen  like  my  friends  could 
not  do  any  good  if  they  forgathered  and  personated  correspond- 
ents of  newspapers,  and  might,  if  they  blackmailed  one  of  the 
little  rat-trap  states  of  Central  India  or  Southern  Rajputana, 
get  themselves  into  serious  difficulties.  I  therefore  took  some 
trouble  to  describe  them  as  accurately  as  I  could  remember  to 
people  who  would  be  interested  in  deporting  them :  and  suc- 
ceeded, so  I  was  later  informed,  in  having  them  headed  back 
from  the  Degumber  borders. 

Then  I  became  respectable,  and  returned  to  an  Office  where 
there  were  no  Kings  and  no  incidents  outside  the  daily  manu- 
facture of  a  newspaper.  A  newspaper  office  seems  to  attract 
every  conceivable  sort  of  person,  to  the  prejudice  of  discipline. 
Zenana-mission  ladies  arrive,  and  beg  that  the  Editor  will 
instantly  abandon  all  his  duties  to  describe  a  Christian  prize- 
giving  in  a  back-slum  of  a  perfectly  inaccessible  village ; 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  249 

Colonels  who  have  been  overpassed  for  command  sit  down 
and  sketch  the  outline  of  a  series  of  ten,  twelve,  or  twenty-four 
leading  articles  on  Seniority  versus  Selection ;  missionaries  wish 
to  know  why  they  have  not  been  permitted  to  escape  from  their 
regular  vehicles  of  abuse  and  swear  at  a  brother-missionary 
under  special  patronage  of  the  editorial  We ;  stranded  theatrical 
companies  troop  up  to  explain  that  they  cannot  pay  for  their 
advertisements,  but  on  their  return  from  New  Zealand  or  Tahiti 
will  do  so  with  interest;  inventors  of  patent  punkah-pulling 
machines,  carriage  couplings  and  unbreakable  swords  and  axle- 
trees  call  with  specifications  in  their  pockets  and  hours  at  their 
disposal ;  tea-companies  enter  and  elaborate  their  prospectuses 
with  the  office  pens;  secretaries  of  ball-committees  clamor  to 
have  the  glories  of  their  last  dance  more  fully  described ;  strange 
ladies  rustle  in  and  say :  "  I  want  a  hundred  lady's  cards  printed 
at  once,  please,"  which  is  manifestly  part  of  an  Editor's  duty ; 
and  every  dissolute  ruffian  that  ever  tramped  the  Grand  Trunk 
Road  makes  it  his  business  to  ask  for  employment  as  a  proof- 
reader. And,  all  the  time,  the  telephone-bell  is  ringing  madly, 
and  Kings  are  being  killed  on  the  Continent,  and  Empires  are 
saying  — "  You  're  another,"  and  Mister  Gladstone  is  calling 
down  brimstone  upon  the  British  Dominions,  and  the  little  black 
copy-boys  are  whining  "  kaa-pi  chay-ha-yeh  "  (copy  wanted)  like 
tired  bees,  and  most  of  the  paper  is  as  blank  as  Modred's  shield. 
But  that  is  the  amusing  part  of  the  year.  There  are  six  other 
months  when  none  ever  come  to  call,  and  the  thermometer  walks 
inch  by  inch  up  to  the  top  of  the  glass,  and  the  office  is  dark- 
ened to  just  above  reading-light,  and  the  press-machines  are 
red-hot  of  touch,  and  nobody  writes  anything  but  accounts  of 
amusements  in  the  Hill-stations  or  obituary  notices.  Then  the 
telephone  becomes  a  tinkling  terror,  because  it  tells  you  of  the 
sudden  deaths  of  men  and  women  that  you  knew  intimately, 
and  the  prickly-heat  covers  you  with  a  garment,  and  you  sit 


250  SHORT   STORIES 

down  and  write :  "  A "  slight  increase  of  sickness  is  reported 
from  the  Khuda  Janta  Khan  District  The  outbreak  is  purely 
sporadic  in  its  nature,  and,  thanks  to  the  energetic  efforts  of 
the  District  authorities,  is  now  almost  at  an  end.  It  is,  however, 
with  deep  regret  we  record  the  death,"  etc. 

Then  the  sickness  really  breaks  out,  and  the  less  recording 
and  reporting  the  better  for  the  peace  of  the  subscribers.  But 
the  Empires  and  the  Kings  continue  to  divert  themselves  as 
selfishly  as  before,  and  the  Foreman  thinks  that  a  daily  paper 
really  ought  to  come  out  once  in  twenty-four  hours,  and  all  the 
people  at  the  Hill-stations  in  the  middle  of  their  amusements 
say :  "  Good  gracious  1  Why  can't  the  paper  be  sparkling  ?  I'm 
sure  there 's  plenty  going  on  up  here." 

That  is  the  dark  half  of  the  moon,  and,  as  the  advertisements 
say,  "  must  be  experienced  to  be  appreciated." 

It  was  in  that  season,  and  a  remarkably  evil  season,  that  the 
paper  began  running  the  last  issue  of  the  week  on  Saturday 
night,  which  is  to  say  Sunday  morning,  after  the  custom  of 
a  London  paper.  This  was  a  great  convenience,  for  immediately 
after  the  paper  was  put  to  bed,  the  dawn  would  lower  the  ther- 
mometer from  96°  to  almost  84°  for  half  an  hour,  and  in  that 
chill  —  you  have  no  idea  how  cold  is  84°  on  the  grass  until  you 
begin  to  pray  for  it  —  a  very  tired  man  could  get  off  to  sleep 
ere  the  heat  roused  him. 

One  Saturday  night  it  was  my  pleasant  duty  to  put  the 
paper  to  bed  alone.  A  King  or  courtier  or  a  courtesan  or  a 
Community  was  going  to  die  or  get  a  new  Constitution,  or  do 
something  that  was  important  on  the  other  side  of  the  world, 
and  the  paper  was  to  be  held  open  till  the  latest  possible 
minute  in  order  to  catch  the  telegram. 

It  was  a  pitchy  black  night,  as  stifling  as  a  June  night  can 
be,  and  the  loo,  the  red-hot  wind  from  the  westward,  was  boom- 
ing among  the  tinder-dry  trees  and  pretending  that  the  rain 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  251 

was  on  its  heels.  Now  and  again  a  spot  of  almost  boiling  water 
would  fall  on  the  dust  with  the  flop  of  a  frog,  but  all  our  weary 
world  knew  that  was  only  pretence.  It  was  a  shade  cooler  in 
the  press-room  than  the  office,  so  I  sat  there,  while  the  type 
ticked  and  clicked,  and  the  night-jars  hooted  at  the  windows, 
and  the  all  but  naked  compositors  wiped  the  sweat  from  their 
foreheads,  and  called  for  water.  The  thing  that  was  keeping 
us  back,  whatever  it  was,  would  not  come  off,  though  the  loo 
dropped  and  the  last  type  was  set,  and  the  whole  round  earth 
stood  still  in  the  choking  heat,  with  its  finger  on  its  lip,  to  wait 
the  event.  I  drowsed,  and  wondered  whether  the  telegraph  was 
a  blessing,  and  whether  this  dying  man,  or  struggling  people, 
might  be  aware  of  the  inconvenience  the  delay  was  causing. 
There  was  no  special  reason  beyond  the  heat  and  worry  to 
make  tension,  but,  as  the  clock-hands  crept  up  to  three  o'clock 
and  the  machines  spun  their  fly-wheels  two  and  three  times  to 
see  that  all  was  in  order,  before  I  said  the  word  that  would  set 
them  off,  I  could  have  shrieked  aloud. 

Then  the  roar  and  rattle  of  the  wheels  shivered  the  quiet 
into  little  bits.  I  rose  to  go  away,  but  two  men  in  white  clothes 
stood  in  front  of  me.  The  first  one  said  :  "  It 's  him  !  "  The 
second  said :  "  So  it  is ! "  And  they  both  laughed  almost  as 
loudly  as  the  machinery  roared,  and  mopped  their  foreheads. 
"  We  seed  there  was  a  light  burning  across  the  road  and  we 
were  sleeping  in  that  ditch  there  for  coolness,  and  I  said  to  my 
friend  here, '  The  office  is  open.  Let 's  come  along  and  speak  to 
him  as  turned  us  back  from  the  Degumber  State,' "  said  the 
smaller  of  the  two.  He  was  the  man  I  had  met  in  the  Mhow 
train,  and  his  fellow  was  the  red-bearded  man  of  Marwar  Junc- 
tion. There  was  no  mistaking  the  eyebrows  of  the  one  or  the 
beard  of  the  other. 

I  was  not  pleased,  because  I  wished  to  go  to  sleep,  not  to 
squabble  with  loafers.  "  What  do  you  want  ?  "  I  asked. 


252  SHORT   STORIES 

"  Half  an  hour's  talk  with  you,  cool  and  comfortable,  in  the 
office,"  said  the  red-bearded  man.  "We'd  like  some  drink  — 
the  Contrack  doesn't  begin  yet,  Peachey,  so  you  needn't  look 
—  but  what  we  really  want  is  advice.  We  don't  want  money. 
We  ask  you  as  a  favor,  because  we  found  out  you  did  us  a  bad 
turn  about  Degumber  State." 

I  led  from  the  press-room  to  the  stifling  office  with  the 
maps  on  the  walls,  and  the  red-haired  man  rubbed  his  hands. 
"  That 's  something  like,"  said  he.  "  This  was  the  proper  shop 
to  come  to.  Now,  Sir,  let  me  introduce  to  you  Brother  Peachey 
Carnehan,  that 's  him,  and  Brother  Daniel  Dravot,  that  is  me, 
and  the  less  said  about  our  professions  the  better,  for  we  have 
been  most  things  in  our  time.  Soldier,  sailor,  compositor,  photog- 
rapher, proof-reader,  street-preacher,  and  correspondents  of  the 
Backwoodsman  when  we  thought  the  paper  wanted  one.  Carne- 
han is  sober,  and  so  am  I.  Look  at  us  first,  and  see  that 's 
sure.  It  will  save  you  cutting  into  my  talk.  We  '11  take  one  of 
your  cigars  apiece,  and  you  shall  see  us  light  up." 

I  watched  the  test.  The  men  were  absolutely  sober,  so  I 
gave  them  each  a  tepid  whiskey  and  soda. 

"Well  and  good,"  said  Carnehan  of  the  eyebrows,  wiping 
the  froth  from  his  moustache.  "  Let  me  talk  now,  Dan.  We 
have  been  all  over  India,  mostly  on  foot.  We  have  been  boiler- 
fitters,  engine-drivers,  petty  contractors,  and  all  that,  and  we 
have  decided  that  India  isn't  big  enough  for  such  as  us." 

They  certainly  were  too  big  for  the  office.  Dravot's  beard 
seemed  to  fill  half  the  room  and  Carnehan's  shoulders  the  other 
half,  as  they  sat  on  the  big  table.  Carnehan  continued :  "  The 
country  isn't  half  worked  out  because  they  that  governs  it 
won't  let  you  touch  it.  They  spend  all  their  blessed  time  in 
governing  it,  and  you  can't  lift  a  spade,  nor  chip  a  rock,  nor 
look  for  oil,  nor  anything  like  that  without  all  the  Government 
saying  —  *  Leave  it  alone,  and  let  us  govern.'  Therefore,  such 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  253 

as  it  is,  we  will  let  it  alone,  and  go  away  to  some  other  place 
where  a  man  is  n't  crowded  and  can  come  to  his  own.  We  are 
not  little  men,  and  there  is  nothing  that  we  are  afraid  of  except 
Drink,  and  we  have  signed  a  Contrack  on  that.  Therefore,  we 
are  going  away  to  be  Kings." 

"  Kings  in  our  own  right,"  muttered  Dravot. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  I  said.  "  You  Ve  been  tramping  in  the 
sun,  and  it 's  a  very  warm  night,  and  had  n't  you  better  sleep 
over  the  notion  ?  Come  to-morrow." 

"  Neither  drunk  nor  sunstruck,"  said  Dravot.  "  We  have 
slept  over  the  notion  half  a  year,  and  require  to  see  Books  and 
Atlases,  and  we  have  decided  that  there  is  only  one  place  now 
in  the  world  that  two  strong  men  can  Sar-a-a//te£.  They  call 
it  Kafiristan.  By  my  reckoning  it 's  the  top  right-hand  corner  of 
Afghanistan,  not  more  than  three  hundred  miles  from  Peshawar. 
They  have  two-and-thirty  heathen  idols  there,  and  we  '11  be  the 
thirty-third  and  fourth.  It's  a  mountaineous  country,  and  the 
women  of  those  parts  are  very  beautiful." 

"  But  that  is  provided  against  in  the  Contrack,"  said  Carne- 
han.  "  Neither  Woman  nor  Liqu-or,  Daniel." 

"And  that's  all  we  know,  except  that  no  one  has  gone 
there,  and  they  fight,  and  in  any  place  where  they  fight  a  man 
who  knows  how  to  drill  men  can  always  be  a  King.  We  shall 
go  to  those  parts  and  say  to  any  King  we  find  —  *  D'  you  want 
to  vanquish  your  foes  ? '  and  we  will  show  him  how  to  drill  men ; 
for  that  we  know  better  than  anything  else.  Then  we  will  sub- 
vert that  King  and  seize  his  Throne  and  establish  a  Dy-nasty." 

"  You  '11  be  cut  to  pieces  before  you  're  fifty  miles  across  the 
Border,"  I  said.  "  You  have  to  travel  through  Afghanistan  to 
get  to  that  country.  It 's  one  mass  of  mountains  and  peaks  and 
glaciers,  and  no  Englishman  has  been  through  it.  The  people 
are  utter  brutes,  and  even  if  you  reached  them  you  couldn't 
do  anything." 


254  SHORT   STORIES 

"  That 's  more  like,"  said  Carnehan.  "  If  you  could  think  us 
a  little  more  mad  we  would  be  more  pleased.  We  have  come  to 
you  to  know  about  this  country,  to  read  a  book  about  it,  and 
to  be  shown  maps.  We  want  you  to  tell  us  that  we  are  fools 
and  to  show  us  your  books."  He  turned  to  the  book-cases. 

"  Are  you  at  all  in  earnest  ? "    I  said. 

"  A  little,"  said  Dravot,  sweetly.  "  As  big  a  map  as  you  have 
got,  even  if  it's  all  blank  where  Kafiristan  is,  and  any  books 
you  Ve  got.  We  can  read,  though  we  are  n't  very  educated." 

I  uncased  the  big  thirty-two-miles-to-the-inch  map  of  India, 
and  two  smaller  Frontier  maps,  hauled  down  volume  INF-KAN 
of  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica,  and  the  men  consulted  them. 

"  See  here  !  "  said  Dravot,  his  thumb  on  the  map.  "  Up  to 
Jagdallak,  Peachey  and  me  know  the  road.  We  was  there  with 
Roberts's  Army.  We  '11  have  to  turn  off  to  the  right  at  Jagdallak 
through  Laghmann  territory.  Then  we  get  among  the  hills  — 
fourteen  thousand  feet  —  fifteen  thousand  —  it  will  be  cold 
work  there,  but  it  don't  look  very  far  on  the  map." 

I  handed  him  Wood  on  the  Sources  of  the  Oxus.  Carnehan 
was  deep  in  the  Encyclopedia. 

"They're  a  mixed  lot,"  said  Dravot,  reflectively;  "and  it 
won't  help  us  to  know  the  names  of  their  tribes.  The  more 
tribes  the  more  they'll  fight,  and  the  better  for  us.  From 
Jagdallak  to  Ashang.  H'mm  1 " 

"  But  all  the  information  about  the  country  is  as  sketchy  and 
inaccurate  as  can  be,"  I  protested.  "  No  one  knows  anything 
about  it  really.  Here 's  the  file  of  the  United  Services'  Institute. 
Read  what  Bellew  says." 

"Blow  Bellew!"  said  Carnehan.  "Dan,  they're  a  stinkin' 
lot  of  heathens,  but  this  book  here  says  they  think  they're 
related  to  us  English." 

I  smoked  while  the  men  pored  over  Raverty,  Wood,  the 
maps,  and  the  Encyclopedia. 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  255 

"  There  is  no  use  your  waiting,"  said  Dravot,  politely.  "  It 's 
about  four  o'clock  now.  We'll  go  before  six  o'clock  if  you 
want  to  sleep,  and  we  won't  steal  any  of  the  papers.  Don't 
you  sit  up.  We  're  two  harmless  lunatics,  and  if  you  come 
to-morrow  evening  down  to  the  Serai  we  '11  say  good-bye 
to  you." 

"  You  are  two  fools,"  I  answered.  "  You  '11  be  turned  back 
at  the  Frontier  or  cut  up  the  minute  you  set  foot  in  Afghani- 
stan. Do  you  want  any  money  or  a  recommendation  down- 
country?  I  can  help  you  to  the  chance  of  work  next  week." 

"  Next  week  we  shall  be  hard  at  work  ourselves,  thank  you," 
said  Dravot.  "  It  is  n't  so  easy  being  a  King  as  it  looks.  When 
we  've  got  our  Kingdom  in  going  order  we  '11  let  you  know,  and 
you  can  come  up  and  help  us  to  govern  it" 

"Would  two  lunatics  make  a  Contrack  like  that?"  said 
Carnehan,  with  subdued  pride,  showing  me  a  greasy  half-sheet 
of  notepaper  on  which  was  written  the  following.  I  copied  it, 
then  and  there,  as  a  curiosity  — 

This  Contract  between  me  and  you  persuing  witnesseth  in  the 
name  of  God —  Amen  and  so  forth. 

(One)  That  me  and  you  will  settle  this  matter  together;  i.e., 
to  be  Kings  of  Kafiristan. 

(Two)  That  you  and  me  will  not,  while  this  matter  is  being 
settled,  look  at  any  Liquor,  nor  any  Woman  black, 
white,  or  brown,  so  as  to  get  mixed  up  with  one  or 
the  other  harmful. 

(Three)  That  we  conduct  ourselves  with  Dignity  and  Discre- 
tion, and  if  one  of  us  gets  into  trouble  the  other  will 
stay  by  him. 

Signed  by  you  and  me  this  day. 
Peachey  Taliaferro  Carnehan. 
Daniel  Dravot. 
Both  Gentlemen  at  Large. 


256  SHORT  STORIES 

"There  was  no  need  for  the  last  article,"  said  Carnehan, 
blushing  modestly ;  "  but  it  looks  regular.  Now  you  know  the 
sort  of  men  that  loafers  are  —  we  are  loafers,  Dan,  until  we 
get  out  of  India  —  and  do  you  think  that  we  would  sign  a  Con- 
track  like  that  unless  we  was  in  earnest  ?  We  have  kept  away 
from  the  two  things  that  make  life  worth  having." 

"  You  won't  enjoy  your  lives  much  longer  if  you  are  going 
to  try  this  idiotic  adventure.  Don't  set  the  office  on  fire,"  I 
said,  "  and  go  away  before  nine  o'clock." 

I  left  them  still  poring  over  the  maps  and  making  notes  on 
the  back  of  the  "  Contrack."  "  Be  sure  to  come  down  to  the 
Serai  to-morrow,"  were  their  parting  words. 

The  Kumharsen  Serai  is  the  great  four-square  sink  of  human- 
ity where  the  strings  of  camels  and  horses  from  the  North 
load  and  unload.  All  the  nationalities  of  Central  Asia  may  be 
found  there,  and  most  of  the  folk  of  India  proper.  Balkh  and 
Bokhara  there  meet  Bengal  and  Bombay,  and  try  to  draw  eye- 
teeth.  You  can  buy  ponies,  turquoises,  Persian  pussy-cats, 
saddle-bags,  fat-tailed  sheep,  and  musk  in  the  Kumharsen  Serai, 
and  get  many  strange  things  for  nothing.  In  the  afternoon  I 
went  down  to  see  whether  my  friends  intended  to  keep  their 
word  or  were  lying  there  drunk. 

A  priest  attired  in  fragments  of  ribbons  and  rags  stalked  up 
to  me,  gravely  twisting  a  child's  paper  whirligig.  Behind  him 
was  his  servant  bending  under  the  load  of  a  crate  of  mud  toys. 
The  two  were  loading  up  two  camels,  and  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Serai  watched  them  with  shrieks  of  laughter. 

"  The  priest  is  mad,"  said  a  horse-dealer  to  me.  "  He  is 
going  up  to  Kabul  to  sell  toys  to  the  Amir.  He  will  either  be 
raised  to  honor  or  have  his  head  cut  off.  He  came  in  here  this 
morning  and  has  been  behaving  madly  ever  since." 

"  The  witless  are  under  the  protection  of  God,"  stammered  a 
flat-cheeked  Usbeg  in  broken  Hindi.  "  They  foretell  future  events." 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  257 

"  Would  they  could  have  foretold  that  my  caravan  would 
have  been  cut  up  by  the  Shinwaris  almost  within  shadow  of  the 
Pass  1 "  grunted  the  Eusufzai  agent  of  a  Rajputana  trading- 
house  whose  goods  had  been  diverted  into  the  hands  of  other 
robbers  just  across  the  Border,  and  whose  misfortunes  were  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  bazar.  "  Ohe',  priest,  whence  come  you 
and  whither  do  you  go?" 

"  From  Roum  have  I  come,"  shouted  the  priest,  waving  his 
whirligig;  "from  Roum,  blown  by  the  breath  of  a  hundred 
devils  across  the  sea !  O  thieves,  robbers,  liars,  the  blessing  of 
Pir  Khan  on  pigs,  dogs,  and  perjurers  !  Who  will  take  the  Pro- 
tected of  God  to  the  North  to  sell  charms  that  are  never  still  to 
the  Amir  ?  The  camels  shall  not  gall,  the  sons  shall  not  fall  sick, 
and  the  wives  shall  remain  faithful  while  they  are  away,  of  the 
men  who  give  me  place  in  their  caravan.  Who  will  assist  me  to 
slipper  the  King  of  the  Roos  with  a  golden  slipper  with  a  silver 
heel  ?  The  protection  of  Pir  Khan  be  upon  his  labors ! "  He 
spread  out  the  skirts  of  his  gaberdine  and  pirouetted  between 
the  lines  of  tethered  horses. 

"  There  starts  a  caravan  from  Peshawar  to  Kabul  in  twenty 
days,  Huzrut"  said  the  Eusufzai  trader.  "  My  camels  go  there- 
with. Do  thou  also  go  and  bring  us  good-luck." 

"  I  will  go  even  now !  "  shouted  the  priest.  "  I  will  depart 
upon  my  winged  camels,  and  be  at  Peshawar  in  a  day !  Ho ! 
Hazar  Mir  Khan,"  he  yelled  to  his  servant,  "  drive  out  the 
camels,  but  let  me  first  mount  my  own." 

He  leaped  on  the  back  of  his  beast  as  it  knelt,  and,  turning 
round  to  me,  cried :  "  Come  thou  also,  Sahib,  a  little  along  the 
road,  and  I  will  sell  thee  a  charm  —  an  amulet  that  shall  make 
thee  King  of  Kafiristan." 

Then  the  light  broke  upon  me,  and  I  followed  the  two 
camels  out  of  the  Serai  till  we  reached  open  road  and  the 
priest  halted. 


258  SHORT   STORIES 

"  What  d'  you  think  o'  that  ?  "  said  he  in  English.  "  Carnehan 
can't  talk  their  patter,  so  I  've  made  him  my  servant.  He 
makes  a  handsome  servant.  'T  is  n't  for  nothing  that  I  Ve  been 
knocking  about  the  country  for  fourteen  years.  Didn't  I  do 
that  talk  neat  ?  We  '11  hitch  on  to  a  caravan  at  Peshawar  till  we 
get  to  Jagdallak,  and  then  we  '11  see  if  we  can  get  donkeys  for 
our  camels,  and  strike  into  Kafiristan.  Whirligigs  for  the  Amir, 
O  Lor !  Put  your  hand  under  the  camel-bags  and  tell  me  what 
you  feel." 

I  felt  the  butt  of  a  Martini,  and  another  and  another. 

"  Twenty  of  'em,"  said  Dravot,  placidly.  "  Twenty  of  'em 
and  ammunition  to  correspond,  under  the  whirligigs  and  the 
mud  dolls." 

"  Heaven  help  you  if  you  are  caught  with  those  things !  "  I 
said.  "A  Martini  is  worth  her  weight  in  silver  among  the 
Pathans." 

"  Fifteen  hundred  rupees  of  capital  —  every  rupee  we  could 
beg,  borrow,  or  steal  —  are  invested  on  these  two  camels,"  said 
Dravot.  "  We  won't  get  caught.  We  're  going  through  the  Khaiber 
with  a  regular  caravan.  Who  'd  touch  a  poor  mad  priest  ? " 

"  Have  you  got  everything  you  want  ? "  I  asked,  overcome 
with  astonishment. 

"  Not  yet,  but  we  shall  soon.  Give  us  a  memento  of  your 
kindness,  Brother.  You  did  me  a  service,  yesterday,  and  that 
time  in  Marwar.  Half  my  Kingdom  shall  you  have,  as  the 
saying  is."  I  slipped  a  small  charm  compass  from  my  watch 
chain  and  handed  it  up  to  the  priest. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Dravot,  giving  me  hand  cautiously.  "  It 's 
the  last  time  we  '11  shake  hands  with  an  Englishman  these  many 
days.  Shake  hands  with  him,  Carnehan,"  he  cried,  as  the  second 
camel  passed  me. 

Carnehan  leaned  down  and  shook  hands.  Then  the  camels 
passed  away  along  the  dusty  road,  and  I  was  left  alone  to 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  259 

wonder.  My  eye  could  detect  no  failure  in  the  disguises.  The 
scene  in  the  Serai  proved  that  they  were  complete  to  the  native 
mind.  There  was  just  the  chance,  therefore,  that  Carnehan  and 
Dravot  would  be  able  to  wander  through  Afghanistan  without 
detection.  But,  beyond,  they  would  find  death  —  certain  and 
awful  death. 

Ten  days  later  a  native  correspondent  giving  me  the  news 
of  the  day  from  Peshawar,  wound  up  his  letter  with :  "  There 
has  been  much  laughter  here  on  account  of  a  certain  mad  priest 
who  is  going  in  his  estimation  to  sell  petty  gauds  and  insignifi- 
cant trinkets  which  he  ascribes  as  great  charms  to  H.  H.  the 
Amir  of  Bokhara.  He  passed  through  Peshawar  and  associated 
himself  to  the  Second  Summer  caravan  that  goes  to  Kabul. 
The  merchants  are  pleased  because  through  superstition  they 
imagine  that  such  mad  fellows  bring  good-fortune." 

The  two,  then,  were  beyond  the  Border.  I  would  have  prayed 
for  them,  but,  that  night,  a  real  King  died  in  Europe,  and 
demanded  an  obituary  notice. 

The  wheel  of  the  world  swings  through  the  same  phases 
again  and  again.  Summer  passed  and  winter  thereafter,  and 
came  and  passed  again.  The  daily  paper  continued  and  I 
with  it,  and  upon  the  third  summer  there  fell  a  hot  night,  a 
night-issue,  and  a  strained  waiting  for  something  to  be  tele- 
graphed from  the  other  side  of  the  world,  exactly  as  had  hap- 
pened before.  A  few  great  men  had  died  in  the  past  two  years, 
the  machines  worked  with  more  clatter,  and  some  of  the  trees 
in  the  Office  garden  were  a  few  feet  taller.  But  that  was  all 
the  difference. 

I  passed  over  to  the  press-room,  and  went  through  just  such 
a  scene  as  I  have  already  described.  The  nervous  tension  was 
stronger  than  it  had  been  two  years  before,  and  I  felt  the  heat 
more  acutely.  At  three  o'clock  I  cried,  "  Print  off,"  and  turned 


260  SHORT   STORIES 

to  go,  when  there  crept  to  my  chair  what  was  left  of  a  man. 
He  was  bent  into  a  circle,  his  head  was  sunk  between  his  shoul- 
ders, and  he  moved  his  feet  one  over  the  other  like  a  bear.  I 
could  hardly  see  whether  he  walked  or  crawled  —  this  rag- 
wrapped,  whining  cripple  who  addressed  me  by  name,  crying 
that  he  was  come  back.  "  Can  you  give  me  a  drink  ? "  he 
whimpered.  "  For  the  Lord's  sake,  give  me  a  drink ! " 

I  went  back  to  the  office,  the  man  following  with  groans  of 
pain,  and  I  turned  up  the  lamp. 

"  Don't  you  know  me  ? "  he  gasped,  dropping  into  a  chair, 
and  he  turned  his  drawn  face,  surmounted  by  a  shock  of  gray 
hair,  to  the  light. 

I  looked  at  him  intently.  Once  before  had  I  seen  eyebrows 
that  met  over  the  nose  in  an  inch-broad  black  band,  but  for  the 
life  of  me  I  could  not  tell  where. 

"  I  don't  know  you,"  I  said,  handing  him  the  whiskey. 
"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? " 

He  took  a  gulp  of  the  spirit  raw,  and  shivered  in  spite  of  the 
suffocating  heat. 

"  I  Ve  come  back,"  he  repeated ;  "  and  I  was  the  King  of 
Kafiristan  —  me  and  Dravot  —  crowned  Kings  we  was!  In 
this  office  we  settled  it  —  you  setting  there  and  giving  us  the 
books.  I  am  Peachey  —  Peachey  Taliaferro  Carnehan,  and 
you  Ve  been  setting  here  ever  since  —  O  Lord  !  " 

I  was  more  than  a  little  astonished,  and  expressed  my  feel- 
ings accordingly. 

"  It 's  true,"  said  Carnehan,  with  a  dry  cackle,  nursing  his 
feet,  which  were  wrapped  in  rags.  "  True  as  gospel.  Kings  we 
were,  with  crowns  upon  our  heads  —  me  and  Dravot  —  poor 
Dan  —  oh,  poor,  poor  Dan,  that  would  never  take  advice,  not 
though  I  begged  of  him!" 

"  Take  the  whiskey,"  I  said,  "  and  take  your  own  time.  Tell 
me  all  you  can  recollect  of  everything  from  beginning  to  end. 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  261 

You  got  across  the  border  on  your  camels,  Dravot  dressed  as  a 
mad  priest  and  you  his  servant.  Do  you  remember  that  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  mad  —  yet,  but  I  shall  be  that  way  soon.  Of  course 
I  remember.  Keep  looking  at  me,  or  maybe  my  words  will  go 
all  to  pieces.  Keep  looking  at  me  in  my  eyes  and  don't  say 
anything." 

I  leaned  forward  and  looked  into  his  face  as  steadily  as  I 
could.  He  dropped  one  hand  upon  the  table  and  I  grasped  it 
by  the  wrist.  It  was  twisted  like  a  bird's  claw,  and  upon  the 
back  was  a  ragged,  red,  diamond-shaped  scar. 

"  No,  don't  look  there.  Look  at  me"  said  Carnehan.  "  That 
comes  afterwards,  but  for  the  Lord's  sake  don't  distrack  me. 
We  left  with  that  caravan,  me  and  Dravot  playing  all  sorts  of 
antics  to  amuse  the  people  we  were  with.  Dravot  used  to  make 
us  laugh  in  the  evenings  when  all  the  people  was  cooking  their 
dinners  —  cooking  their  dinners,  and  —  what  did  they  do  then  ? 
They  lit  little  fires  with  sparks  that  went  into  Dravot's  beard, 
and  we  all  laughed  —  fit  to  die.  Little  red  fires  they  was,  going 
into  Dravot's  big  red  beard  —  so  funny."  His  eyes  left  mine 
and  he  smiled  foolishly. 

"  You  went  as  far  as  Jagdallak  with  that  caravan,"  I  said  at 
a  venture,  "  after  you  had  lit  those  fires.  To  Jagdallak,  where 
you  turned  off  to  try  to  get  into  Kafiristan." 

"  No,  we  did  n't  neither.  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  We 
turned  off  before  Jagdallak,  because  we  heard  the  roads  was 
good.  But  they  wasn't  good  enough  for  our  two  camels  — 
mine  and  Dravot's.  When  we  left  the  caravan,  Dravot  took 
off  all  his  clothes  and  mine  too,  and  said  we  would  be  heathen, 
because  the  Kafirs  did  n't  allow  Mohammedans  to  talk  to  them. 
So  we  dressed  betwixt  and  between,  and  such  a  sight  as  Daniel 
Dravot  I  never  saw  yet  nor  expect  to  see  again.  He  burned 
half  his  beard,  and  slung  a  sheep-skin  over  his  shoulder,  and 
shaved  his  head  into  patterns.  He  shaved  mine,  too,  and  made 


262  SHORT   STORIES 

me  wear  outrageous  things  to  look  like  a  heathen.  That  was 
in  a  most  mountaineous  country,  and  our  camels  couldn't  go 
along  any  more  because  of  the  mountains.  They  were  tall  and 
black,  and  coming  home  I  saw  them  fight  like  wild  goats  — 
there  are  lots  of  goats  in  Kafiristan.  And  these  mountains, 
they  never  keep  still,  no  more  than  the  goats.  Always  fighting 
they  are,  and  don't  let  you  sleep  at  night." 

"  Take  some  more  whiskey,"  I  said,  very  slowly.  "  What  did 
you  and  Daniel  Dravot  do  when  the  camels  could  go  no  further 
because  of  the  rough  roads  that  led  into  Kafiristan  ? " 

"What  did  which  do?  There  was  a  party  called  Peachey 
Taliaferro  Carnehan  that  was  with  ^Dravot.  Shall  I  tell  you 
about  him?  He  died  out  there  in  the  cold.  Slap  from  the 
bridge  fell  old  Peachey,  turning  and  twisting  in  the  air  like  a 
penny  whirligig  that  you  can  sell  to  the  Amir.  —  No ;  they  was 
two  for  three  ha'pence,  those  whirligigs,  or  I  am  much  mistaken 
and  woeful  sore.  —  And  then  these  camels  were  no  use,  and 
Peachey  said  to  Dravot  —  *  For  the  Lord's  sake  let 's  get  out 
of  this  before  our  heads  are  chopped  off,'  and  with  that  they 
killed  the  camels  all  among  the  mountains,  not  having  anything 
in  particular  to  eat,  but  first  they  took  off  the  boxes  with  the 
guns  and  the  ammunition,  till  two  men  came  along  driving  four 
mules.  Dravot  up  and  dances  in  front  of  them,  singing  —  '  Sell 
me  four  mules.'  Says  the  first  man  —  *  If  you  are  rich  enough 
to  buy,  you  are  rich  enough  to  rob ; '  but  before  ever  he  could 
put  his  hand  to  his  knife,  Dravot  breaks  his  neck  over  his 
knee,  and  the  other  party  runs  away.  So  Carnehan  loaded  the 
mules  with  the  rifles  that  was  taken  off  the  camels,  and  together 
we  starts  forward  into  those  bitter  cold  mountaineous  parts, 
and  never  a  road  broader  than  the  back  of  your  hand." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  while  I  asked  him  if  he  could 
remember  the  nature  of  the  country  through  which  he  had 
journeyed. 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  263 

"  I  am  telling  you  as  straight  as  I  can,  but  my  head  is  n't  as 
good  as  it  might  be.  They  drove  nails  through  it  to  make  me 
hear  better  how  Dravot  died.  The  country  was  mountaineous 
and  the  mules  were  most  contrary,  and  the  inhabitants  was 
dispersed  and  solitary.  They  went  up  and  up,  and  down  and 
down,  and  that  other  party,  Carnehan,  was  imploring  of  Dravot 
not  to  sing  and  whistle  so  loud,  for  fear  of  bringing  down  the 
tremenjus  avalanches.  But  Dravot  says  that  if  a  King  could  n't 
sing  it  was  n't  worth  being  King,  and  whacked  the  mules  over 
the  rump,  and  never  took  no  heed  for  ten  cold  days.  We  came 
to  a  big  level  valley  all  among  the  mountains,  and  the  mules  were 
near  dead,  so  we  killed  them,  not  having  anything  in  special 
for  them  or  us  to  eat.  We  sat  upon  the  boxes,  and  played  odd 
and  even  with  the  cartridges  that  was  jolted  out. 

"  Then  ten  men  with  bows  and  arrows  ran  down  that  valley, 
chasing  'twenty  men  with  bows  and  arrows,  and  the  row  was 
tremenjus.  They  was  fair  men  —  fairer  than  you  or  me  — 
with  yellow  hair  and  remarkable  well  built.  Says  Dravot,  un- 
packing the  guns  —  *  This  is  the  beginning  of  the  business. 
We  '11  fight  for  the  ten  men,'  and  with  that  he  fires  two  rifles 
at  the  twenty  men,  and  drops  one  of  them  at  two  hundred 
yards  from  the  rock  where  he  was  sitting.  The  other  men 
began  to  run,  but  Carnehan  and  Dravot  sits  on  the  boxes 
picking  them  off  at  all  ranges,  up  and  down  the  valley.  Then 
we  goes  up  to  the  ten  men  that  had  run  across  the  snow  too, 
and  they  fires  a  footy  little  arrow  at  us.  Dravot  he  shoots 
above  their  heads  and  they  all  falls  down  flat.  Then  he  walks 
over  them  and  kicks  them,  and  then  he  lifts  them  up  and 
shakes  hands  all  round  to  make  them  friendly  like.  He  calls 
them  and  gives  them  the  boxes  to  carry,  and  waves  his  hand 
for  all  the  world  as  though  he  was  King  already.  They  takes 
the  boxes  and  him  across  the  valley  and  up  the  hill  into  a  pine 
wood  on  the  top,  where  there  was  half  a  dozen  big  stone  idols. 


264  SHORT  STORIES 

Dravot  he  goes  to  the  biggest  —  a  fellow  they  call  Imbra  — 
and  lays  a  rifle  and  a  cartridge  at  his  feet,  rubbing  his  nose 
respectful  with  his  own  nose,  patting  him  on  the  head,  and 
saluting  in  front  of  it.  He  turns  round  to  the  men  and  nods 
his  head,  and  says  —  'That's  all  right.  I'm  in  the  know  too, 
and  all  these  old  jim-jams  are  my  friends.'  Then  he  opens  his 
mouth  and  points  down  it,  and  when  the  first  man  brings  him 
food,  he  says  —  *  No ; '  and  when  the  second  man  brings  him 
food,  he  says  — '  No ; '  but  when  one  of  the  old  priests  and 
the  boss  of  the  village  brings  him  food,  he  says  —  • f  Yes,'  very 
haughty,  and  eats  it  slow.  That  was  how  we  came  to  our  first 
village,  without  any  trouble,  just  as  though  we  had  tumbled 
from  the  skies.  But  we  tumbled  from  one  of  those  damned 
rope-bridges,  you  see,  and  —  you  could  n't  expect  a  man  to 
laugh  much  after  that?" 

"  Take  some  more  whiskey  and  go  on,"  I  said.  "  That  was 
the  first  village  you  came  into.  How  did  you  get  to  be  King  ?  " 

"  I  was  n't  King,"  said  Carnehan.  "  Dravot,  he  was  the 
King,  and  a  handsome  man  he  looked  with  the  gold  crown  on 
his  head  and  all.  Him  and  the  other  party  stayed  in  that  vil- 
lage, and  every  morning  Dravot  sat  by  the  side  of  old  Imbra, 
and  the  people  came  and  worshipped.  That  was  Dravot's 
order.  Then  a  lot  of  men  came  into  the  valley,  and  Carnehan 
and  Dravot  picks  them  off  with  the  rifles  before  they  knew 
where  they  was,  and  runs  down  into  the  valley  and  up  again 
the  other  side  and  finds  another  village,  same  as  the  first  one, 
and  the  people  all  falls  down  flat  on  their  faces,  and  Dravot 
says  — '  Now  what  is  the  trouble  between  you  two  villages  ? ' 
and  the  people  points  to  a  woman,  as  fair  as  you  or  me,  that 
was  carried  off,  and  Dravot  takes  her  back  to  the  first  village 
and  counts  up  the  dead  —  eight  there  was.  For  each  dead 
man  Dravot  pours  a  little  milk  on  the  ground  and  waves  his 
arms  like  a  whirligig  and  *  That 's  all  right,'  says  he.  Then  he 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  265 

and  Carnehan  takes  the  big  boss  of  each  village  by  the  arm 
and  walks  them  down  into  the  valley,  and  shows  them  how  to 
scratch  a  line  with  a  spear  right  down  the  valley,  and  gives 
each  a  sod  of  turf  from  both  sides  of  the  line.  Then  all  the 
people  comes  down  and  shouts  like  the  devil  and  all,  and 
Dravot  says  — '  Go  and  dig  the  land,  and  be  fruitful  and  mul- 
tiply,' which  they  did,  though  they  didn't  understand.  Then 
we  asks  the  names  of  things  in  their  lingo  —  bread  and  water 
and  fire  and  idols  and  such,  and  Dravot  leads  the  priest  of 
each  village  up  to  the  idol,  and  says  he  must  sit  there  and 
judge  the  people,  and  if  anything  goes  wrong  he  is  to  be  shot. 
"  Next  week  they  was  all  turning  up  the  land  in  the  valley 
as  quiet  as  bees  and  much  prettier,  and  the  priests  heard  all 
the  complaints  and  told  Dravot  in  dumb  show  what  it  was 
about.  *  That 's  just  the  beginning,'  says  Dravot.  *  They  think 
we  're  Gods.'  He  and  Carnehan  picks  out  twenty  good  men 
and  shows  them  how  to  click  off  a  rifle,  and  form  fours,  and 
advance  in  line,  and  they  was  very  pleased  to  do  so,  and  ckver 
to  see  the  hang  of  it.  Then  he  takes  out  his  pipe  and  his 
baccy-pouch  and  leaves  one  at  one  village,  and  one  at  the 
other,  and  off  we  two  goes  to  see  what  was  to  be  done  in  the 
next  valley.  That  was  all  rock,  and  there  was  a  little  village 
there,  and  Carnehan  says  —  *  Send  'em  to  the  old  valley  to 
plant,'  and  takes  'em  there  and  gives  'em  some  land  that  was  n't 
took  before.  They  were  a  poor  lot,  and  we  blooded  'em  with 
a  kid  before  letting  'em  into  the  new  Kingdom.  That  was  to 
impress  the  people,  and  then  they  settled  down  quiet,  and 
Carnehan  went  back  to  Dravot  who  had  got  into  another  val- 
ley, all  snow  and  ice  and  most  mountaineous.  There  was  no 
people  there  and  the  Army  got  afraid,  so  Dravot  shoots  one  of 
them,  and  goes  on  till  he  finds  some  people  in  a  village,  and 
the  Army  explains  that  unless  the  people  wants  to  be  killed 
they  had  better  not  shoot  their  little  matchlocks ;  for  they  h^d 


266  SHORT   STORIES 

matchlocks.  We  makes  friends  with  the  priest  and  I  stays 
there  alone  with  two  of  the  Army,  teaching  the  men  how  to 
drill,  and  a  thundering  big  Chief  comes  across  the  snow  with 
kettle-drums  and  horns  twanging,  because  he  heard  there  was 
a  new  God  kicking  about.  Carnehan  sights  for  the  brown  of 
the  men  half  a  mile  across  the  snow  and  wings  one  of  them. 
Then  he  sends  a  message  to  the  Chief  that,  unless  he  wished 
to  be  killed,  he  must  come  and  shake  hands  with  me  and  leave 
his  arms  behind.  The  Chief  comes  alone  first,  and  Carnehan 
shakes  hands  with  him  and  whirls  his  arms  about,  same  as 
Dravot  used,  and  very  much  surprised  that  Chief  was,  and 
strokes  my  eyebrows.  Then  Carnehan  goes  alone  to  the  Chief, 
and  asks  him  in  dumb  show  if  he  had  an  enemy  he  hated.  *  I 
have,'  says  the  Chief.  So  Carnehan  weeds  out  the  pick  of  his 
men,  and  sets  the  two  of  the  Army  to  show  them  drill  and  at 
the  end  of  two  weeks  the  men  can  manoeuvre  about  as  well 
as  Volunteers.  So  he  marches  with  the  Chief  to  a  great  big 
plain  on  the  top  of  a  mountain,  and  the  Chief's  men  rushes 
into  a  village  and  takes  it;  we  three  Martinis  firing  into  the 
brown  of  the  enemy.  So  we  took  that  village  too,  and  I  gives 
the  Chief  a  rag  from  my  coat  and  says,  *  Occupy  till  I  come ; ' 
which  was  scriptural.  By  way  of  a  reminder,  when  me  and 
the  Army  was  eighteen  hundred  yards  away,  I  drops  a  bullet 
near  him  standing  on  the  snow,  and  all  the  people  falls  flat  on 
their  faces.  Then  I  sends  a  letter  to  Dravot  wherever  he  be 
by  land  or  by  sea." 

At  the  risk  of  throwing  the  creature  out  of  train  I  interrupted 
—  "  How  could  you  write  a  letter  up  yonder  ? " 

"The  letter?  — Oh!  — The  letter!  Keep  looking  at  me 
between  the  eyes,  please.  It  was  a  string-talk  letter,  that  we  'd 
learned  the  way  of  it  from  a  blind  beggar  in  the  Punjab." 

I  remember  that  there  had  once  come  to  the  office  a  blind  man 
with  a  knotted  twig  and  a  piece  of  string  which  he  wound  round 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  267 

the  twig  according  to  some  cipher  of  his  own.  He  could,  after  the 
lapse  of  days  or  hours,  repeat  the  sentence  which  he  had  reeled 
up.  He  had  reduced  the  alphabet  to  eleven  primitive  sounds ; 
and  tried  to  teach  me  his  method,  but  I  could  not  understand. 

"  I  sent  that  letter  to  Dravot,"  said  Carnehan ;  "  and  told 
him  to  come  back  because  this  Kingdom  was  growing  too  big 
for  me  to  handle,  and  then  I  struck  for  the  first  valley,  to  see 
how  the  priests  were  working.  They  called  the  village  we  took 
along  with  the  Chief,  Bashkai,  and  the  first  village  we  took,  Er- 
Heb.  The  priests  at  Er-Heb  was  doing  all  right,  but  they  had 
a  lot  of  pending  cases  about  land  to  show  me,  and  some  men 
from  another  village  had  been  firing  arrows  at  night.  I  went 
out  and  looked  for  that  village,  and  fired  four  rounds  at  it 
from  a  thousand  yards.  That  used  all  the  cartridges  I  cared  to 
spend,  and  I  waited  for  Dravot,  who  had  been  away  two  or 
three  months,  and  I  kept  my  people  quiet. 

"  One  morning  I  heard  the  devil's  own  noise  of  drums  and 
horns,  and  Dan  Dravot  marches  down  the  hill  with  his  Army 
and  a  tail  of  hundreds  of  men,  and,  which  was  the  most  amaz- 
ing, a  great  gold  crown  on  his  head.  *  My  Gord,  Carnehan,' 
says  Daniel,  *  this  is  a  tremenjus  business,  and  we  Ve  got  the 
whole  country  as  far  as  it's  worth  having.  I  am  the  son  of 
Alexander  by  Queen  Semiramis,  and  you  're  my  younger 
brother  and  a  God  too!  It's  the  biggest  thing  we've  ever 
seen.  I  've  been  marching  and  fighting  for  six  weeks  with  the 
Army,  and  every  footy  little  village  for  fifty  miles  has  come  in 
rejoiceful ;  and  more  than  that,  I  Ve  got  the  key  of  the  whole 
show,  as  you  '11  see,  and  I  've  got  a  crown  for  you !  I  told  'em 
to  make  two  of  'em  at  a  place  called  Shu,  where  the  gold  lies  in 
the  rock  like  suet  in  mutton.  Gold  I  've  seen,  and  turquoise 
I  've  kicked  out  of  the  cliffs,  and  there  's  garnets  in  the  sands 
of  the  river,  and  here 's  a  chunk  of  amber  that  a  man  brought 
me.  Call  up  all  the  priests  and,  here,  take  your  crown.' 


268  SHORT   STORIES 

"  One  of  the  men  opens  a  black  hair  bag,  and  I  slips  the 
crown  on.  It  was  too  small  and  too  heavy,  but  I  wore  it  for 
the  glory.  Hammered  gold  it  was  —  five  pound  weight,  like  a 
hoop  of  a  barrel. 

" '  Peachey,'  says  Dravot,  *  we  don't  want  to  fight  no  more. 
The  Craft 's  the  trick,  so  help  me  I '  and  he  brings  forward 
that  same  Chief  that  I  left  at  Bashkai  —  Billy  Fish  we  called 
him  afterwards,  because  he  was  so  like  Billy  Fish  that  drove 
the  big  tank-engine  at  Mach  on  the  Bolan  in  the  old  days. 
'  Shake  hands  with  him,'  says  Dravot,  and  I  shook  hands  and 
nearly  dropped,  for  Billy  Fish  gave  me  the  Grip.  I  said  noth- 
ing, but  tried  him  with  the  Fellow  Craft  Grip.  He  answers, 
all  right,  and  I  tried  the  Master's  Grip,  but  that  was  a  slip.  l  A 
Fellow  Craft  he  is  ! '  I  says  to  Dan.  '  Does  he  know  the  word  ? ' 
—  *  He  does,'  says  Dan,  *  and  all  the  priests  know.  It 's  a 
miracle !  The  Chiefs  and  the  priests  can  work  a  Fellow  Craft 
Lodge  in  a  way  that's  very  like  ours,  and  they've  cut  the 
marks  on  the  rocks,  but  they  don't  know  the  Third  Degree, 
and  they  've  come  to  find  out.  It 's  Gord's  Truth.  I  've  known 
these  long  years  that  the  Afghans  knew  up  to  the  Fellow  Craft 
Degree,  but  this  is  a  miracle.  A  God  and  a  Grand-Master  of 
the  Craft  am  I,  and  a  Lodge  in  the  Third  Degree  I  will  open, 
and  we'll  raise  the  head  priests  and  the  Chiefs  of  the  villages.' 

" '  It 's  against  all  the  law,'  I  says,  '  holding  a  Lodge  without 
warrant  from  any  one ;  and  you  know  we  never  held  office  in 
any  Lodge.' 

"  *  It 's  a  master-stroke  o'  policy,'  says  Dravot.  '  It  means 
running  the  country  as  easy  as  a  four-wheeled  bogie  on  a  down 
grade.  We  can't  stop  to  inquire  now,  or  they  '11  turn  against  us. 
I  Ve  forty  Chiefs  at  my  heel,  and  passed  and  raised  according 
to  their  merit  they  shall  be.  Billet  these  men  on  the  villages, 
and  see  that  we  run  up  a  Lodge  of  some  kind.  The  temple  of 
Imbra  will  do  for  the  Lodge-room.  The  women  must  make 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  269 

aprons  as  you  show  them.  I  '11  hold  a  levee  of  Chiefs  to-night 
and  Lodge  to-morrow.' 

"  I  was  fair  run  off  my  legs,  but  I  was  n't  such  a  fool  as  not 
to  see  what  a  pull  this  Craft  business  gave  us.  I  showed  the 
priests'  families  how  to  make  aprons  of  the  degrees,  but  for 
Dravot's  apron  the  blue  border  and  marks  was  made  of  tur- 
quoise lumps  on  white  hide,  not  cloth.  We  to'ok  a  great  square 
stone  in  the  temple  for  the  Master's  chair,  and  little  stones 
for  the  officers'  chairs,  and  painted  the  black  pavement  with 
white  squares,  and  did  what  we  could  to  make  things  regular. 

"  At  the  levee  which  was  held  that  night  on  the  hillside  with 
big  bonfires,  Dravot  gives  out  that  him  and  me  were  Gods  and 
sons  of  Alexander,  and  Past  Grand-Masters  in  the  Craft,  and 
was  come  to  make  Kafiristan  a  country  where  every  man  should 
eat  in  peace  and  drink  in  quiet,  and  specially  obey  us.  Then 
the  Chiefs  come  round  to  shake  hands,  and  they  were  so  hairy 
and  white  and  fair  it  was  just  shaking  hands  with  old  friends. 
We  gave  them  names  according  as  they  was  like  men  we  had 
known  in  India  —  Billy  Fish,  Holly  Dilworth,  Pikky  Kergan, 
that  was  Bazar-master  when  I  was  at  Mhow,  and  so  on,  and 
so  on. 

"  The  most  amazing  miracles  was  at  Lodge  next  night.  One 
of  the  old  priests  was  watching  us  continuous,  and  I  felt  un- 
easy, for  I  knew  we  'd  have  to  fudge  the  Ritual,  and  I  did  n't 
know  what  the  men  knew.  The  old  priest  was  a  stranger  come 
in  from  beyond  the  village  of  Bashkai.  The  minute  Dravot 
puts  on  the  Master's  apron  that  the  girls  had  made  for  him,  the 
priest  fetches  a  whoop  and  a  howl,  and  tries  to  overturn  the 
stone  that  Dravot  was  sitting  on.  '  It 's  all  up  now,'  I  says. 
'  That  comes  of  meddling  with  the  Craft  without  warrant ! ' 
Dravot  never  winked  an  eye,  not  when  ten  priests  took  and 
tilted  over  the  Grand-Master's  chair  —  which  was  to  say  the 
stone  of  Imbra.  The  priest  begins  rubbing  the  bottom  end  of 


2/0  SHORT  STORIES 

it  to  clear  away  the  black  dirt,  and  presently  he  shows  all  the 
other  priests  the  Master's  Mark,  same  as  was  on  Dravot's 
apron,  cut  into  the  stone.  Not  even  the  priests  of  the  temple 
of  Imbra  knew  it  was  there.  The  old  chap  falls  flat  on  his  face 
at  Dravot's  feet  and  kisses  'em.  *  Luck  again,'  says  Dravot, 
across  the  Lodge  to  me,  *  they  say  it 's  the  missing  Mark  that 
no  one  could  understand  the  why  of.  We  're  more  than  safe 
now.'  Then  he  bangs  the  butt  of  his  gun  for  a  gavel  and  says : 
*  By  virtue  of  the  authority  vested  in  me  by  my  own  right  hand 
and  the  help  of  Peachey,  I  declare  myself  Grand-Master  of  all 
Freemasonry  in  Kafiristan  in  this  the  Mother  Lodge  o'  the 
country,  and  King  of  Kafiristan  equally  with  Peachey ! '  At 
that  he  puts  on  his  crown  and  I  puts  on  mine  —  I  was  doing 
Senior  Warden  —  and  we  opens  the  Lodge  in  most  ample 
form.  It  was  a  amazing  miracle  !  The  priests  moved  in  Lodge 
through  the  first  two  degrees  almost  without  telling,  as  if  the 
memory  was  coming  back  to  them.  After  that,  Peachey  and 
Dravot  raised  such  as  was  worthy  —  high  priests  and  Chiefs  of 
far-off  villages.  Billy  Fish  was  the  first,  and  I  can  tell  you  we 
scared  the  soul  out  of  him.  It  was  not  in  any  way  according  to 
Ritual,  but  it  served  our  turn.  We  did  n't  raise  more  than  ten 
of  the  biggest  men,  because  we  did  n't  want  to  make  the 
Degree  common.  And  they  was  clamoring  to  be  raised. 

' '  In  another  six  months,'  says  Dravot,  '  we  '11  hold  another 
Communication,  and  see  how  you  are  working.'  Then  he  asks 
them  about  their  villages,  and  learns  that  they  was  fighting  one 
against  the  other,  and  were  sick  and  tired  of  it.  And  when  they 
was  n't  doing  that  they  was  fighting  with  the  Mohammedans. 
1  You  can  fight  those  when  they  come  into  our  country,'  says 
Dravot.  '  Tell  off  every  tenth  man  of  your  tribes  for  a  Frontier 
guard,  and  send  two  hundred  at  a  time  to  this  valley  to  be 
drilled.  Nobody  is  going  to  be  shot  or  speared  any  more  so 
long  as  he  does  well,  and  I  know  that  you  won't  cheat  me, 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  2/1 

because  you  're  white  people  —  sons  of  Alexander  —  and  not 
like  common,  black  Mohammedans.  You  are  my  people,  and  by 
God,'  says  he,  running  off  into  English  at  the  end  — '  I  '11  make 
a  damned  fine  Nation  of  you,  or  I  '11  die  in  the  making ! ' 

"  I  can't  tell  all  we  did  for  the  next  six  months,  because 
Dravot  did  a  lot  I  couldn't  see  the  hang  of,  and  he  learned 
their  lingo  in  a  way  I  never  could.  My  work  was  to  help  the 
people  plough,  and  now  and  again  go  out  with  some  of  the 
Army  and  see  what  the  other  villages  were  doing,  and  make 
'em  throw  rope-bridges  across  the  ravines  which  cut  up  the 
country  horrid.  Dravot  was  very  kind  to  me,  but  when  he 
walked  up  and  down  in  the  pine  wood  pulling  that  bloody  red 
beard  of  his  with  both  fists  I  knew  he  was  thinking  plans  I 
could  not  advise  about,  and  I  just  waited  for  orders. 

"  But  Dravot  never  showed  me  disrespect  before  the  people. 
They  were  afraid  of  me  and  the  Army,  but  they  loved  Dan. 
He  was  the  best  of  friends  with  the  priests  and  the  Chiefs ;  but 
any  one  could  come  across  the  hills  with  a  complaint,  and 
Dravot  would  hear  him  out  fair,  and  call  four  priests  together 
and  say  what  was  to  be  done.  He  used  to  call  in  Billy  Fish 
from  Bashkai,  and  Pikky  Kergan  from  Shu,  and  an  old  Chief 
we  call  Kafuzelum  —  it  was  like  enough  to  his  real  name  — 
and  hold  councils  with  'em  when  there  was  any  fighting  to  be 
done  in  small  villages.  That  was  his  Council  of  War,  and  the 
four  priests  of  Bashkai,  Shu,  Khawak,  and  Madora  was  his 
Privy  Council.  Between  the  lot  of  'em  they  sent  me,  with  forty 
men  and  twenty  rifles,  and  sixty  men  carrying  turquoises,  into 
the  Ghorband  country  to  buy  those  hand-made  Martini  rifles, 
that  come  out  of  the  Amir's  workshops  at  Kabul,  from  one  of 
the  Amir's  Herati  regiments  that  would  have  sold  the  very 
teeth  out  of  their  mouths  for  turquoises. 

"  I  stayed  in  Ghorband  a  month,  and  gave  the  Governor 
there  the  pick  of  my  baskets  for  hush-money,  and  bribed  the 


2/2  SHORT   STORIES 

Colonel  of  the  regiment  some  more,  and,  between  the  two  and 
the  tribes-people,  we  got  more  than  a  hundred  hand-made 
Martinis,  a  hundred  good  Kohat  Jezails  that'll  throw  to  six 
hundred  yards,  and  forty  man-loads  of  very  bad  ammunition  for 
the  rifles.  I  came  back  with  what  I  had,  and  distributed  'em 
among  the  men  that  the  Chiefs  sent  in  to  me  to  drill.  Dravot 
was  too  busy  to  attend  to  those  things,  but  the  old  Army  that 
we  first  made  helped  me,  and  we  turned  out  five  hundred  men 
that  could  drill,  and  two  hundred  that  knew  how  to  hold  arms 
pretty  straight.  Even  those  cork-screwed,  hand-made  guns  was 
a  miracle  to  them.  Dravot  talked  big  about  powder-shops  and 
factories,  walking  up  and  down  in  the  pine  wood  when  the 
winter  was  coming  on. 

*  *  I  won't  make  a  Nation,'  says  he.  *  I  '11  make  an  Empire ! 
These  men  are  n't  niggers ;  they  're  English  1  Look  at  their 
eyes  —  look  at  their  mouths.  Look  at  the  way  they  stand  up. 
They  sit  on  chairs  in  their  own  houses.  They  're  the  Lost 
Tribes,  or  something  like  it,  and  they  've  grown  to  be  English. 
I  '11  take  a  census  in  the  spring  if  the  priests  don't  get  fright- 
ened. There  must  be  a  fair  two  million  of  'em  in  these  hills. 
The  villages  are  full  o'  little  children.  Two  million  people  — 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  fighting  men  —  and  all  English  ! 
They  only  want  the  rifles  and  a  little  drilling.  Two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  men,  ready  to  cut  in  on  Russia's  right  flank 
when  she  tries  for  India !  Peachey,  man,'  he  says,  chewing  his 
beard  in  great  hunks,  *  we  shall  be  Emperors  —  Emperors  of 
the  Earth !  Rajah  Brooke  will  be  a  suckling  to  us.  I  '11  treat 
with  the  Viceroy  on  equal  terms.  I  '11  ask  him  to  send  me 
twelve  picked  English  —  twelve  that  I  know  of  —  to  help  us 
govern  a  bit.  There 's  Mackray,  Sergeant-pensioner  at  Segowli 
—  many 's  the  good  dinner  he 's  given  me,  and  his  wife  a  pair 
of  trousers.  There's  Donkin,  the  Warder  of  Tounghoo  Jail; 
there  's  hundreds  that  I  could  lay  my  hand  on  if  I  was  in  India. 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  273 

The  Viceroy  shall  do  it  for  me,  I  '11  send  a  man  through  in  the 
spring  for  those  men,  and  I  '11  write  for  a  dispensation  from 
the  Grand  Lodge  for  what  I  've  done  as  Grand-Master.  That 

—  and  all  the  Sniders  that'll  be  thrown  out  when  the  native 
troops  in  India  take  up  the  Martini.    They  '11  be  worn  smooth, 
but  they'll  do  for  fighting  in  these  hills.    Twelve  English,  a 
hundred  thousand  Sniders  run  through  the  Amir's  country  in 
dribblets  —  I'd  be  content  with  twenty  thousand  in  one  year  — 
and  we  'd  be  an  Empire.    When  everything  was  shipshape,  I'd 
hand   over   the   crown  —  this  crown   I'm  wearing  now  —  to 
Queen  Victoria  on  my  knees,  and  she  'd  say :   "  Rise  up,  Sir 
Daniel   Dravot."    Oh,  it's  big!    It's   big,   I  tell  youl    But 
there 's  so  much  to  be  done  in  every  place  —  Bashkai,  Khawak, 
Shu,  and  everywhere  else.' 

' f  What  is  it  ? '  I  says.  '  There  are  no  more  men  coming  in 
to  be  drilled  this  autumn.  Look  at  those  fat  black  clouds. 
They  're  bringing  the  snow.' 

"  It  is  n't  that,'  says  Daniel,  putting  his  hand  very  hard  on 
my  shoulder ;  '  and  I  don't  wish  to  say  anything  that 's  against 
you,  for  no  other  living  man  would  have  followed  me  and 
made  me  what  I  am  as  you  have  done.  You  're  a  first-class 
Commander-in-Chief ,  and  the  people  know  you ;  but  —  it 's  a 
big  country,  and  somehow  you  can't  help  me,  Peachey,  in  the 
way  I  want  to  be  helped.' 

* f  Go  to  your  blasted  priests,  then  ! '  I  said,  and  I  was  sorry 
when  I  made  that  remark,  but  it  did  hurt  me  sore  to  find 
Daniel  talking  so  superior  when  I'd  drilled  all  the  men,  and 
done  all  he  told  me. 

*  *  Don't  let 's  quarrel,  Peachey,'  says  Daniel,  without  cursing. 
*  You  're  a  King  too,  and  the  half  of  this  Kingdom  is  yours ; 
but  can't  you  see,  Peachey,  we  want  cleverer  men  than  us  now 

—  three  or  four  of  'em,  that  we  can  scatter  about  for  our 
Deputies.    It 's  a  hugeous  great  State,  and  I  can't  always  tell 


2/4  SHORT  STORIES 

the  right  thing  to  do,  and  I  have  n't  time  for  all  I  want  to  do, 
and  here  's  the  winter  coming  on  and  all.'  He  put  half  his 
beard  into  his  mouth,  all  red  like  the  gold  of  his  crown. 

"  *  I'm  sorry,  Daniel,'  says  I.  *  I  've  done  all  I  could.  I  Ve 
drilled  the  men  and  shown  the  people  how  to  stack  their  oats 
better;  and  I  've  brought  in  those  tinware  rifles  from  Ghorband 
—  but  I  know  what  you  're  driving  at.  I  take  it  Kings  always 
feel  oppressed  that  way.' 

! '  There 's  another  thing  too,'  says  Dravot,  walking  up  and 
down.  *  The  winter 's  coming  and  these  people  won't  be  giving 
much  trouble,  and  if  they  do  we  can't  move  about.  I  want  a 
wife.' 

' '  For  Gord's  sake  leave  the  women  alone ! '  I  says.  *  We  've 
both  got  all  the  work  we  can,  though  I  am  a  fool.  Remember 
the  Contrack,  and  keep  clear  o'  women.' 

*  The  Contrack  only  lasted  till  such  time  as  we  was  Kings  ; 
and  Kings  we  have  been  these  months  past,'  says  Dravot, 
weighing  his  crown  in  his  hand.  *  You  go  get  a  wife  too, 
Peachey  —  a  nice,  strappin',  plump  girl  that  '11  keep  you  warm 
in  the  winter.  They  're  prettier  than  English  girls,  and  we  can 
take  the  pick  of  'em.  Boil  'em  once  or  twice  in  hot  water,  and 
they  '11  come  out  like  chicken  and  ham/ 

!  *  Don't  tempt  me  ! '  I  says.  *  I  will  not  have  any  dealings 
with  a  woman  not  till  we  are  a  dam'  side  more  settled  than  we 
are  now.  I  Ve  been  doing  the  work  o'  two  men,  and  you  've 
been  doing  the  work  o'  three.  Let's  lie  off  a  bit,  and  see  if 
we  can  get  some  better  tobacco  from  Afghan  country  and  run 
in  some  good  liquor ;  but  no  women.' 

1 '  Who  's  talking  o'  women  ? '  says  Dravot.  '  I  said  wife  — 
a  Queen  to  breed  a  King's  son  for  the  King.  A  Queen  out  of 
the  strongest  tribe,  that  '11  make  them  your  blood-brothers,  and 
that  '11  lie  by  your  side  and  tell  you  all  the  people  thinks  about 
you  and  their  own  affairs.  That 's  what  I  want.' 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  2/5 

" '  Do  you  remember  that  Bengali  woman  I  kept  at  Mogul 
Serai  when  I  was  a  plate-layer  ? '  says  I.  *  A  f at  lot  o'  good 
she  was  to  me.  She  taught  me  the  lingo  and  one  or  two  other 
things ;  but  what  happened  ?  She  ran  away  with  the  Station 
Master's  servant  and  half  my  month's  pay.  Then  she  turned 
up  at  Dadur  Junction  in  tow  of  a  half-caste,  and  had  the  im- 
pidence  to  say  I  was  her  husband  —  all  among  the  drivers  in 
the  running-shed  too  ! ' 

!  *  We  've  done  with  that,'  says  Dravot,  '  these  women  are 
whiter  than  you  or  me,  and  a  Queen  I  will  have  for  the  winter 
months.' 

" '  For  the  last  time  o'  asking,  Dan,  do  not'  I  says.  '  It '11 
only  bring  us  harm.  The  Bible  says  that  Kings  ain't  to  waste 
their  strength  on  women,  'specially  when  they  Ve  got  a  new 
raw  Kingdom  to  work  over.' 

' '  For  the  last  time  of  answering  I  will,'  said  Dravot,  and 
he  went  away  through  the  pine-trees  looking  like  a  big  red 
devil,  the  sun  being  on  his  crown  and  beard  and  all. 

"  But  getting  a  wife  was  not  as  easy  as  Dan  thought.  He 
put  it  before  the  Council,  and  there  was  no  answer  till  Billy 
Fish  said  that  he  'd  better  ask  the  girls.  Dravot  damned  them 
all  round.  '  What 's  wrong  with  me  ? '  he  shouts,  standing  by 
the  idol  Imbra.  *  Am  I  a  dog  or  am  I  not  enough  of  a  man 
for  your  wenches  ?  Have  n't  I  put  the  shadow  of  my  hand 
over  this  country?  Who  stopped  the  last  Afghan  raid?'  It 
was  me  really,  but  Dravot  was  too  angry  to  remember.  *  Who 
bought  your  guns  ?  Who  repaired  the  bridges  ?  Who 's  the 
Grand-Master  of  the  sign  cut  in  the  stone  ? '  says  he,  and  he 
thumped  his  hand  on  the  block  that  he  used  to  sit  on  in  Lodge, 
and  at  Council,  which  opened  like  Lodge  always.  Billy  Fish 
said  nothing  and  no  more  did  the  others.  *  Keep  your  hair  on, 
Dan,'  said  I ;  *  and  ask  the  girls.  That 's  how  it 's  done  at 
Home,  and  these  people  are  quite  English.' 


276  SHORT   STORIES 

" '  The  marriage  of  the  King  is  a  matter  of  State,'  says  Dan, 
in  a  white-hot  rage,  for  he  could  feel^  I  hope,  that  he  was  going 
against  his  better  mind.  He  walked  out  of  the  Council-room, 
and  the  others  sat  still,  looking  at  the  ground. 

"  *  Billy  Fish,'  says  I  to  the  Chief  of  Bashkai,  '  what 's  the 
difficulty  here?  A  straight  answer  to  a  true  friend.' 

"  '  You  know,'  says  Billy  Fish.  '  How  should  a  man  tell  you 
who  knows  everything?  How  can  daughters  of  men  marry 
Gods  or  Devils?  It's  not  proper.' 

"  I  remembered  something  like  that  in  the  Bible ;  but  if, 
after  seeing  us  as  long  as  they  had,  they  still  believed  we  were 
Gods,  it  was  n't  for  me  to  undeceive  them. 

*  *  A  God  can  do  anything,'  says  I.    *  If  the  King  is  fond  of 
a  girl  he  '11  not  let  her  die.'  — '  She  '11  have  to,'  said  Billy  Fish. 
'There  are  all  sorts  of  Gods  and  Devils  in  these  mountains, 
and  now  and  again  a  girl  marries  one  of  them  and  isn't  seen 
any  more.    Besides,  you  two  know  the  Mark  cut  in  the  stone. 
Only  the  Gods  know  that.    We  thought  you  were  men  till  you 
showed  the  sign  of  the  Master.' 

"  I  wished  then  that  we  had  explained  about  the  loss  of  the 
genuine  secrets  of  a  Master-Mason  at  the  first  go-off;  but  I 
said  nothing.  All  that  night  there  was  a  blowing  of  horns  in 
a  little  dark  temple  half-way  down  the  hill,  and  I  heard  a  girl 
crying  fit  to  die.  One  of  the  priests  told  us  that  she  was  being 
prepared  to  marry  the  King. 

*  *  I  '11  have  no  nonsense  of  that  kind,'  says  Dan.    *  I  don't 
want  to  interfere  with  your  customs,  but  I'll  take  my  own 
wife.'-    'The  girl's  a  little  bit  afraid,'  says  the  priest.    'She 
thinks  she 's  going  to  die,  and  they  are  a-heartening  of  her  up 
down  in  the  temple.' 

'  *  Hearten  her  very  tender,  then,'  says  Dravot,  '  or  I  '11 
hearten  you  with  the  butt  of  a  gun  so  you  '11  never  want  to  be 
heartened  again.'  He  licked  his  lips,  did  Dan,  and  stayed  up 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  277 

walking  about  more  than  half  the  night,  thinking  of  the  wife 
that  he  was  going  to  get  in  the  morning.  I  wasn't  by  any 
means  comfortable,  for  I  knew  that  dealings  with  a  woman  in 
foreign  parts,  though  you  was  a  crowned  King  twenty  times 
over,  could  not  but  be  risky.  I  got  up  very  early  in  the  morn- 
ing while  Dravot  was  asleep,  and  I  saw  the  priests  talking  to- 
gether in  whispers,  and  the  Chiefs  talking  together  too,  and 
they  looked  at  me  out  of  the  corners  of  their  eyes. 

" '  What  is  up,  Fish  ? '  I  say  to  the  Bashkai  man,  who  was 
wrapped  up  in  his  furs  and  looking  splendid  to  behold. 

"  *  I  can't  rightly  say,'  says  he ;  '  but  if  you  can  make  the 
King  drop  all  this  nonsense  about  marriage,  you  '11  be  doing 
him  and  me  and  yourself  a  great  service.' 

"  *  That  I  do  believe,'  says  I.  '  But  sure,  you  know,  Billy, 
as  well  as  me,  having  fought  against  and  for  us,  that  the  King 
and  me  are  nothing  more  than  two  of  the  finest  men  that  God 
Almighty  ever  made.  Nothing  more,  I  do  assure  you.' 

"  *  That  may  be,'  says  Billy  Fish,  '  and  yet  I  should  be  sorry 
if  it  was.'  He  sinks  his  head  upon  his  great  fur  cloak  for  a 
minute  and  thinks.  *  King,'  says  he,  *  be  you  man  or  God  or 
Devil,  I  '11  stick  by  you  to-day.  I  have  twenty  of  my  men  with 
me,  and  they  will  follow  me.  We'll  go  to  Bashkai  until  the 
storm  blows  over.' 

"  A  little  snow  had  fallen  in  the  night,  and  everything  was 
white  except  the  greasy  fat  clouds  that  blew  down  and  down 
from  the  north.  Dravot  came  out  with  his  crown  on  his  head, 
swinging  his  arms  and  stamping  his  feet,  and  looking  more 
pleased  than  Punch. 

"  '  For  the  last  time,  drop  it,  Dan,'  says  I  in  a  whisper, '  Billy 
Fish  here  says  that  there  will  be  a  row.' 

" '  A  row  among  my  people  ! '  says  Dravot.  '  Not  much. 
Peachey,  you're  a  fool  not  to  get  a  wife  too.  Where's  the 
girl  ? '  says  he  with  a  voice  as  loud  as  the  braying  of  a  jackass. 


278  SHORT  STORIES 

*  Call  up  all  the  Chiefs  and  priests,  and  let  the  Emperor  see 
if  his  wife  suits  him.' 

"There  was  no  need  to  call  any  one.  They  were  all  there 
leaning  on  their  guns  and  spears  round  the  clearing  in  the 
centre  of  the  pine  wood.  A  lot  of  priests  went  down  to  the 
little  temple  to  bring  up  the  girl,  and  the  horns  blew  fit  to 
wake  the  dead.  Billy  Fish  saunters  round  and  gets  as  close 
to  Daniel  as  he  could,  and  behind  him  stood  his  twenty  men 
with  matchlocks.  Not  a  man  of  them  under  six  feet.  I  was 
next  to  Dravot,  and  behind  me  was  twenty  men  of  the  regular 
Army.  Up  comes  the  girl,  and  a  strapping  wench  she  was, 
covered  with  silver  and  turquoises  but  white  as  death,  and 
looking  back  every  minute  at  the  priests. 

" '  She  '11  do,'  said  Dan,  looking  her  over.  *  What 's  to  be 
afraid  of,  lass  ?  Come  and  kiss  me.'  He  puts  his  arm  round 
her.  She  shuts  her  eyes,  gives  a  bit  of  a  squeak,  and  down  goes 
her  face  in  the  side  of  Dan's  flaming  red  beard. 

'  The  slut 's  bitten  me ! '  says  he,  clapping  his  hand  to  his 
neck,  and,  sure  enough,  his  hand  was  red  with  blood.  Billy  Fish 
and  two  of  his  matchlock-men  catches  hold  of  Dan  by  the 
shoulders  and  drags  him  into  the  Bashkai  lot,  while  the  priests 
howls  in  their  lingo,  — '  Neither  God  nor  Devil  but  a  man ! ' 
I  was  all  taken  aback,  for  a  priest  cut  at  me  in  front,  and  the 
Army  behind  began  firing  into  the  Bashkai  men. 

"God  A'mighty!'  says  Dan.  'What  is  the  meaning  o' 
this?' 

"  *  Come  back !  Come  away ! '  says  Billy  Fish.  *  Ruin  and 
Mutiny  is  the  matter.  We  '11  break  for  Bashkai  if  we  can.' 

"  I  tried  to  give  some  sort  of  orders  to  my  men  —  the  men 
o'  the  regular  Army  —  but  it  was  no  use,  so  I  fired  into  the 
brown  of  'em  with  an  English  Martini  and  drilled  three  beggars 
in  a  line.  The  valley  was  full  of  shouting,  howling  creatures, 
and  every  soul  was  shrieking,  *  Not  a  God  nor  a  Devil  but  only 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  279 

a  man ! '  The  Bashkai  troops  stuck  to  Billy  Fish  all  they  were 
worth,  but  their  matchlocks  wasn't  half  as  good  as  the  Kabul 
breech-loaders,  and  four  of  them  dropped.  Dan  was  bellowing 
like  a  bull,  for  he  was  very  wrathy ;  and  Billy  Fish  had  a  hard 
job  to  prevent  him  running  out  at  the  crowd. 

'  *  We  can't  stand,'  says  Billy  Fish.  '  Make  a  run  for  it  down 
the  valley !  The  whole  place  is  against  us/  The  matchlock-men 
ran,  and  we  went  down  the  valley  in  spite  of  Dravot.  He  was 
swearing  horrible  and  crying  out  he  was  a  King.  The  priests 
rolled  great  stones  on  us,  and  the  regular  Army  fired  hard,  and 
there  was  n't  more  than  six  men,  not  counting  Dan,  Billy  Fish, 
and  Me,  that  came  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  valley  alive. 

"  Then  they  stopped  firing  and  the  horns  in  the  temple  blew 
again.  *  Come  away — for  Gord's  sake  come  away!'  says  Billy 
Fish.  '  They  '11  send  runners  out  to  all  the  villages  before  ever 
we  get  to  Bashkai.  I  can  protect  you  there,  but  I  can't  do 
anything  now.' 

"  My  own  notion  is  that  Dan  began  to  go  mad  in  his  head 
from  that  hour.  He  stared  up  and  down  like  a  stuck  pig.  Then 
he  was  all  for  walking  back  alone  and  killing  the  priests  with 
his  bare  hands  ;  which  he  could  have  done.  *  An  Emperor  am 
I,'  says  Daniel,  *  and  next  year  I  shall  be  a  Knight  of  the  Queen.' 

"'All  right,  Dan,'  says  I ;  '  but  come  along  now  while  there 's 
time.' 

" '  It 's  your  fault,'  says  he,  *  for  not  looking  after  your  Army 
better.  There  was  mutiny  in  the  midst,  and  you  didn't  know 
—  you  damned  engine-driving,  plate-laying,  missionary's-pass- 
hunting  hound ! '  He  sat  upon  a  rock  and  called  me  every  foul 
name  he  could  lay  tongue  to.  I  was  too  heart-sick  to  care, 
though  it  was  all  his  foolishness  that  brought  the  smash. 

*  *  I'm  sorry,  Dan,'  says  I,  '  but  there 's  no  accounting  for 
natives.  This  business  is  our  Fifty-Seven.  Maybe  we  '11  make 
something  out  of  it  yet,  when  we  've  got  to  Bashkai.' 


280  SHORT   STORIES 

"  '  Let 's  get  to  Bashkai,  then,'  says  Dan,  *  and,  by  God,  when 
I  come  back  here  again  I  '11  sweep  the  valley  so  there  is  n't  a 
bug  in  a  blanket  left ! ' 

"  We  walked  all  that  day,  and  all  that  night  Dan  was  stump- 
ing up  and  down  on  the  snow,  chewing  his  beard  and  muttering 
to  himself. 

"  *  There 's  no  hope  o'  getting  clear,'  said  Billy  Fish.  *  The 
priests  will  have  sent  runners  to  the  villages  to  say  that  you  are 
only  men.  Why  did  n't  you  stick  on  as  Gods  till  things  was  more 
settled  ?  I'm  a  dead  man,'  says  Billy  Fish,  and  he  throws  him- 
self down  on  the  snow  and  begins  to  pray  to  his  Gods. 

"  Next  morning  we  was  in  a  cruel  bad  country  —  all  up  and 
down,  no  level  ground  at  all,  and  no  food  either.  The  six  Bash- 
kai men  looked  at  Billy  Fish  hungryway  as  if  they  wanted  to 
ask  something,  but  they  said  never  a  word.  At  noon  we  came 
to  the  top  of  a  flat  mountain  all  covered  with  snow,  and  when 
we  climbed  up  into  it,  behold,  there  was  an  Army  in  position 
waiting  in  the  middle ! 

:  *  The  runners  have  been  very  quick,'  says  Billy  Fish,  with 
a  little  bit  of  a  laugh.  *  They  are  waiting  for  us.' 

"  Three  or  four  men  began  to  fire  from  the  enemy's  side,  and 
a  chance  shot  took  Daniel  in  the  calf  of  the  leg.  That  brought 
him  to  his  senses.  He  looks  across  the  snow  at  the  Army,  and 
sees  the  rifles  that  we  had  brought  into  the  country. 

' '  We  're  done  for,'  says  he.  '  They  are  Englishmen,  these 
people,  —  and  it 's  my  blasted  nonsense  that  has  brought  you 
to  this.  Get  back,  Billy  Fish,  and  take  your  men  away ;  you  Ve 
done  what  you  could,  and  now  cut  for  it.  Carnehan,'  says  he, 
'shake  hands  with  me  and  go  along  with  Billy.  Maybe  they 
won't  kill  you.  I  '11  go  and  meet  'em  alone.  It 's  me  that  did  it. 
Me,  the  King ! ' 

*  *  Go  ! '  says  I.  '  Go  to  Hell,  Dan.  I  am  with  you  here. 
Billy  Fish,  you  clear  out,  and  we  two  will  meet  those  folk.' 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  281 

*  *  I'm  a  Chief,'  says  Billy  Fish,  quite  quiet.  *  I  stay  with  you. 
My  men  can  go.' 

"  The  Bashkai  fellows  did  n't  wait  for  a  second  word  but  ran 
off,  and  Dan  and  Me  and  Billy  Fish  walked  across  to  where  the 
drums  were  drumming  and  the  horns  were  horning.  It  was 
cold  —  awful  cold.  I  Ve  got  that  cold  in  the  back  of  my  head 
now.  There  's  a  lump  of  it  there." 

The  punkah-coolies  had  gone  to  sleep.  Two  kerosene  lamps 
were  blazing  in  the  office,  and  the  perspiration  poured  down  my 
face  and  splashed  on  the  blotter  as  I  leaned  forward.  Carnehan 
was  shivering,  and  I  feared  that  his  mind  might  go.  I  wiped 
my  face,  took  a  fresh  grip  of  the  piteously  mangled  hands,  and 
said  :  "  What  happened  after  that  ?  " 

The  momentary  shift  of  my  eyes  had  broken  the  clear  current. 

"  What  was  you  pleased  to  say  ?  "  whined  Carnehan.  "  They 
took  them  without  any  sound.  Not  a  little  whisper  all  along  the 
snow,  not  though  the  King  knocked  down  the  first  man  that 
set  hand  on  him  —  not  though  old  Peachey  fired  his  last  cart- 
ridge into  the  brown  of  'em.  Not  a  single  solitary  sound  did 
those  swines  make.  They  just  closed  up  tight,  and  I  tell  you 
their  furs  stunk.  There  was  a  man  called  Billy  Fish,  a  good 
friend  of  us  all,  and  they  cut  his  throat,  Sir,  then  and  there,  like 
a  pig ;  and  the  King  kicks  up  the  bloody  snow  and  says : 
'  We  Ve  had  a  dashed  fine  run  for  our  money.  What 's  coming 
next  ? '  But  Peachey,  Peachey  Taliaferro,  I  tell  you,  Sir,  in 
confidence  as  betwixt  two  friends,  he  lost  his  head,  Sir.  No,  he 
did  n't  neither.  The  King  lost  his  head,  so  he  did,  all  along  o' 
one  of  those  cunning  rope-bridges.  Kindly  let  me  have  the 
paper-cutter,  Sir.  It  tilted  this  way.  They  marched  him  a  mile 
across  that  snow  to  a  rope-bridge  over  a  ravine  with  a  river  at 
the  bottom.  You  may  have  seen  such.  They  prodded  him 
behind  like  an  ox.  *  Damn  your  eyes  ! '  says  the  King.  *  D'  you 
suppose  I  can't  die  like  a  gentleman  ? '  He  turns  to  Peachey  — 


282  SHORT  STORIES 

Peachey  that  was  crying  like  a  child.  '  I  've  brought  you  to  this, 
Peachey,'  says  he.  *  Brought  you  out  of  your  happy  life  to  be 
killed  in  Kafiristan,  where  you  was  late  Commander-in-Chief  of 
the  Emperor's  forces.  Say  you  forgive  me,  Peachey.'  —  *  I  do,' 
says  Peachey.  'Fully  and  freely  do  I  forgive  you,  Dan.'  — 
1  Shake  hands,  Peachey,'  says  he.  '  I'm  going  now.'  Out  he 
goes,  looking  neither  right  nor  left,  and  when  he  was  plumb  in 
the  middle  of  those  dizzy  dancing  ropes,  — '  Cut,  you  beggars,' 
he  shouts ;  and  they  cut,  and  old  Dan  fell,  turning  round  and 
round  and  round,  twenty  thousand  miles,  for  he  took  half  an 
hour  to  fall  till  he  struck  the  water,  and  I  could  see  his  body 
caught  on  a  rock  with  the  gold  crown  close  beside. 

"  But  do  you  know  what  they  did  to  Peachey  between  two 
pine-trees  ?  They  crucified  him,  Sir,  as  Peachey's  hand  will  show. 
They  used  wooden  pegs  for  his  hands  and  his  feet;  and  he 
did  n't  die.  He  hung  there  and  screamed,  and  they  took  him 
down  next  day,  and  said  it  was  a  miracle  that  he  was  n't  dead. 
They  took  him  down  —  poor  old  Peachey  that  hadn't  done 
them  any  harm  —  that  hadn't  done  them  any  —  " 

He  rocked  to  and  fro  and  wept  bitterly,  wiping  his  eyes  with 
the  back  of  his  scarred  hands  and  moaning  like  a  child  for  some 
ten  minutes. 

"  They  was  cruel  enough  to  feed  him  up  in  the  temple, 
because  they  said  he  was  more  of  a  God  than  old  Daniel  that 
was  a  man.  Then  they  turned  him  out  on  the  snow,  and  told 
him  to  go  home,  and  Peachey  came  home  in  about  a  year, 
begging  along  the  roads  quite  safe;  for  Daniel  Dravot  he  walked 
before  and  said :  '  Come  along,  Peachey.  It 's  a  big  thing  we  're 
doing.'  The  mountains  they  danced  at  night,  and  the  mountains 
they  tried  to  fall  on  Peachey's  head,  but  Dan  he  held  up  his 
hand,  and  Peachey  came  along  bent  double.  He  never  let  go  of 
Dan's  hand,  and  he  never  let  go  of  Dan's  head.  They  gave  it  to 
him  as  a  present  in  the  temple,  to  remind  him  Mot  to  come  again, 


THE  MAN  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING  283 

and  though  the  crown  was  pure  gold,  and  Peachey  was  starving, 
never  would  Peachey  sell  the  same.  You  knew  Dravot,  Sir  1  You 
knew  Right  Worshipful  Brother  Dravot !  Look  at  him  now  1 " 

He  fumbled  in  the  mass  of  rags  round  his  bent  waist ;  brought 
out  a  black  horsehair  bag  embroidered  with  silver  thread ;  and 
shook  therefrom  on  to  my  table  —  the  dried,  withered  head  of 
Daniel  Dravot !  The  morning  sun  that  had  long  been  paling  the 
lamps  struck  the  red  beard  and  blind  sunken  eyes ;  struck,  too, 
a  heavy  circlet  of  gold  studded  with  raw  turquoises,  that  Carne- 
han  placed  tenderly  on  the  battered  temples. 

"You  be'old  now,"  said  Carnehan,  "the  Emperor  in  his 
'abit  as  he  lived  —  the  King  of  Kafiristan  with  his  crown  upon 
his  head.  Poor  old  Daniel  that  was  a  monarch  once  !  " 

I  shuddered,  for,  in  spite  of  defacements  manifold,  I  recog- 
nized the  head  of  the  man  of  Marwar  Junction.  Carnehan  rose 
to  go.  I  attempted  to  stop  him.  He  was  not  fit  to  walk  abroad. 
"  Let  me  take  away  the  whiskey,  and  give  me  a  little  money," 
he  gasped.  "  I  was  a  King  once.  I  '11  go  to  the  Deputy  Com- 
missioner and  ask  to  set  in  the  Poorhouse  till  I  get  my  health. 
No,  thank  you,  I  can't  wait  till  you  get  a  carriage  for  me.  I  've 
urgent  private  affairs  —  in  the  south  —  at  Marwar/' 

He  shambled  out  of  the  office  and  departed  in  the  direction 
of  the  Deputy  Commissioner's  house.  That  day  at  noon  I  had 
occasion  to  go  down  the  blinding  hot  Mall,  and  I  saw  a  crooked 
man  crawling  along  the  white  dust  of  the  roadside,  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  quavering  dolorously  after  the  fashion  of  street 
singers  at  Home.  There  was  not  a  soul  in  sight,  and  he  was 
out  of  all  possible  earshot  of  the  houses.  And  he  sang  through 
his  nose,  turning  his  head  from  right  to  left : 

The  Son  of  Man  goes  forth  to  war, 

A  golden  crown  to  gain ; 
His  blood-red  banner  streams  afar  — 
Who  follows  in  his  train  ? 


284  SHORT  STORIES 

I  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  put  the  poor  wretch  into  my 
carriage  and  drove  him  off  to  the  nearest  missionary  for  even- 
tual transfer  to  the  Asylum.  He  repeated  the  hymn  twice  while 
he  was  with  me  whom  he  did  not  in  the  least  recognize,  and  I 
left  him  singing  it  to  the  missionary. 

Two  days  later  I  inquired  after  his  welfare  of  the  Superin- 
tendent of  the  Asylum. 

"  He  was  admitted  suffering  from  sun-stroke.  He  died  early 
yesterday  morning,"  said  the  Superintendent.  "  Is  it  true  that 
he  was  half  an  hour  bare-headed  in  the  sun  at  midday  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  but  do  you  happen  to  know  if  he  had  any- 
thing upon  him  by  any  chance  when  he  died  ? " 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge,"  said  the  Superintendent. 

And  there  the  matter  rests. 


XII.    THE  GIFT  OF  THE   MAGI  *  (1905) 
BY  O.  HENRY  2  (1862-1910) 

\Setting.  Christmas  Eve  in  New  York  and  a  furnished  flat 
at  $8  per  week  make  the  setting  of  this  perfect  little  story. 
Delia  has  only  $1.87  with  which  to  buy  a  present  for  Jim  and 
outside  is  "  a  grey  cat  walking  a  grey  fence  in  a  grey  back- 
yard." But  there  is  a  spirit  within  that  is  to  make  the  modest 
flat  a  place  of  glory  and  this  Christmas  Eve  memorable  in  short- 
story  annals.  The  flat  is  the  stable  with  the  manger,  and  New 
York  widens  into  Bethlehem. 

Plot.  "  And  when  they  were  come  into  the  house,  they  saw 
the  young  child  with  Mary  his  mother,  and  fell  down,  and  wor- 
shipped him ;  and  when  they  had  opened  their  treasures,  they 
presented  unto  him  gifts :  gold,  and  frankincense,  and  myrrh." 
These  were  the  gifts  of  the  magi,  but  their  gift  was  love.  The 
infant  Christ  could  make  no  use  of  gold  or  frankincense  or 
myrrh,  nor  could  Delia  and  Jim  make  use  of  the  combs  and  the 
chain ;  but  the  love  that  prompted  the  giving  shines  all  the 
more  resplendent  because  the  gifts,  humanly  speaking,  were 
egregious  misfits.  "  That  the  gold  at  least,"  says  a  recent  com- 
mentator, "  would  be  highly  serviceable  to  the  parents  in  their 
unexpected  journey  to  Egypt  and  during  their  stay  there  —  thus 
much  at  least  admits  of  no  dispute."  Perhaps  so.  But  read  the 
famous  passage  once  more  and  turn  again  to  O.  Henry's  story. 
Which  interpretation  goes  deeper  into  the  heart  of  the  incident  ? 
Which  leaves  you  more  in  love  with  love  ? 

1  From  "  The  Four   Million."    Used   by  special  arrangement  with 
Doubleday,  Page  &  Company,  publishers  of  O.  Henry's  Works. 
"•  The  pen-name  of  William  Sidney  Porter. 

285 


286'  SHORT   STORIES 

Characters.  Delia  and  Jim  have  been  said  to  illustrate 
the  "  story  of  cross-purposes."  But  the  phrase  is  not  well 
used.  Their  purposes  were  one ;  only  their  methods  crossed. 
O.  Henry  rarely  comments  on  his  characters,  but  he  has  here 
picked  out  one  quality  of  these  "  two  foolish  children  in  a  flat " 
for  unreserved  praise :  "  Of  all  who  give  gifts  these  two  were 
the  wisest.  Of  all  who  give  and  receive  gifts,  such  as  they  are 
wisest.  Everywhere  they  are  wisest.  They  are  the  magi."  If 
the  magi,  as  O.  Henry  says,  "  invented  the  art  of  giving  Christ- 
mas presents,"  -Delia  and  Jim  re-discovered  it.  We  have  had  no 
two  characters  in  whose  company  it  is  better  to  leave  our  study 
of  the  short  story.] 


One  dollar  and  eighty-seven  cents.  That  was  all.  And  sixty 
cents  of  it  was  in  pennies.  Pennies  saved  one  and  two  at  a 
time  by  bulldozing  the  grocer  and  the  vegetable  man  and  the 
butcher  until  one's  cheeks  burned  with  the  silent  imputation 
of  parsimony  that  such  close  dealing  implied.  Three  times 
Delia  counted  it.  One  dollar  and  eighty-seven  cents.  And 
the  next  day  would  be  Christmas. 

There  was  clearly  nothing  to  do  but  flop  down  on  the  shabby 
little  couch  and  howl.  So  Delia  did  it.  Which  instigates  the 
moral  reflection  that  life  is  made  up  of  sobs,  sniffles,  and 
smiles,  with  sniffles  predominating. 

While  the  mistress  of  the  home  is  gradually  subsiding  from 
the  first  stage  to  the  second,  take  a  look  at  the  home.  A 
furnished  flat  at  $8  per  week.  It  did  not  exactly  beggar 
description,  but  it  certainly  had  that  word  on  the  lookout  for 
the  mendicancy  squad. 

In  the  vestibule  below  was  a  letter-box  into  which  no  letter 
would  go,  and  an  electric  button  from  which  no  mortal  finger 
could  coax  a  ring.  Also  appertaining  thereunto  was  a  card 
bearing  the  name  "  Mr.  James  Dillingham  Young." 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  MAGI  287 

The  "Dillingham"  had  been  flung  to  the  breeze  during  a 
former  period  of  prosperity  when  its  possessor  was  being  paid 
$30  per  week.  Now,  when  the  income  was  shrunk  to  $20, 
the  letters  of  "  Dillingham "  looked  blurred,  as  though  they 
were  thinking  seriously  of  contracting  to  a  modest  and  unas- 
suming D.  But  whenever  Mr.  James  Dillingham  Young  came 
home  and  reached  his  flat  above  he  was  called  "  Jim "  and 
greatly  hugged  by  Mrs.  James  Dillingham  Young,  already 
introduced  to  you  as  Delia.  Which  is  all  very  good. 

Delia  finished  her  cry  and  attended  to  her  cheeks  with  the 
powder  rag.  She  stood  by  the  window  and  looked  out  dully 
at  a  grey  cat  walking  a  grey  fence  in  a  grey  backyard.  To- 
morrow would  be  Christmas  Day,  and  she  had  only  $1.87 
with  which  to  buy  Jim  a  present.  She  had  been  saving  every 
penny  she  could  for  months,  with  this  result.  Twenty  dollars 
a  week  doesn't  go  far.  Expenses  had  been  greater  than  she 
had  calculated.  They  always  are.  Only  $1.87  to  buy  a  present 
for  Jim.  Her  Jim.  Many  a  happy  hour  she  had  spent  planning 
for  something  nice  for  him.  Something  fine  and  rare  and 
sterling  —  something  just  a  little  bit  near  to  being  worthy  of 
the  honour  of  being  owned  by  Jim. 

There  was  a  pier-glass  between  the  windows  of  the  room. 
Perhaps  you  have  seen  a  pier-glass  in  an  $8  flat.  A  very  thin 
and  very  agile  person  may,  by  observing  his  reflection  in  a  rapid 
sequence  of  longitudinal  strips,  obtain  a  fairly  accurate  concep- 
tion of  his  looks.  Delia,  being  slender,  had  mastered  the  art. 

Suddenly  she  whirled  from  the  window  and  stood  before 
the  glass.  Her  eyes  were  shining  brilliantly,  but  her  face  had 
lost  its  colour  within  twenty  seconds.  Rapidly  she  pulled  down 
her  hair  and  let  it  fall  to  its  full  length. 

Now,  there  were  two  possessions  of  the  James  Dillingham 
Youngs  in  which  they  both  took  a  mighty  pride.  One  was  Jim's 
gold  watch  that  had  been  his  father's  and  his  grandfather's. 


288  SHORT  STORIES 

The  other  was  Delia's  hair.  Had  the  Queen  of  Sheba  lived 
in  the  flat  across  the  airshaft,  Delia  would  have  let  her  hair 
hang  out  the  window  some  day  to  dry  just  to  depreciate  her 
Majesty's  jewels  and  gifts.  Had  King  Solomon  been  the  janitor, 
with  all  his  treasures  piled  up  in  the  basement,  Jim  would 
have  pulled  out  his  watch  every  time  he  passed,  just  to  see 
him  pluck  at  his  beard  from  envy. 

So  now  Delia's  beautiful  hair  fell  about  her,  rippling  and 
shining  like  a  cascade  of  brown  waters.  It  reached  below  her 
knee  and  made  itself  almost  a  garment  for  her.  And  then  she 
did  it  up  again  nervously  and  quickly.  Once  she  faltered  for 
a  minute  and  stood  still  while  a  tear  or  two  splashed  on  the 
worn  red  carpet. 

On  went  her  old  brown  jacket ;  on  went  her  old  brown  hat. 
With  a  whirl  of  skirts  and  with  the  brilliant  sparkle  still  in  her 
eyes,  she  fluttered  out  the  door  and  down  the  stairs  to  the  street. 

Where  she  stopped  the  sign  read :  "  Mme.  Sofronie.  Hair 
Goods  of  all  Kinds."  One  flight  up  Delia  ran,  and  collected 
herself,  panting.  Madame,  large,  too  white,  chilly,  hardly  looked 
the  "  Sofronie." 

"  Will  you  buy  my  hair  ?  "  asked  Delia. 

"  I  buy  hair,"  said  Madame.  "  Take  yer  hat  off  and  let 's 
have  a  sight  at  the  looks  of  it." 

Down  rippled  the  brown  cascade. 

"Twenty  dollars,"  said  Madame,  lifting  the  mass  with  a 
practised  hand. 

"  Give  it  to  me  quick,"  said  Delia. 

Oh,  and  the  next  two  hours  tripped  by  on  rosy  wings.  For- 
get the  hashed  metaphor.  She  was  ransacking  the  stores  for 
Jim's  present. 

She  found  it  at  last.  It  surely  had  been  made  for  Jim  and 
no  one  else.  There  was  no  other  like  it  in  any  of  the  stores, 
and  she  had  turned  all  of  them  inside  out.  It  was  a  platinum 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  MAGI  289 

fob  chain  simple  and  chaste  in  design,  properly  proclaiming  its 
value  by  substance  alone  and  not  by  meretricious  ornamenta- 
tion—  as  all  good  things  should  do.  It  was  even  worthy  of 
The  Watch.  As  soon  as  she  saw  it  she  knew  that  it  must  be 
Jim's.  It  was  like  him.  Quietness  and  value  —  the  description 
applied  to  both.  Twenty-one  dollars  they  took  from  her  for  it, 
and  she  hurried  home  with  the  87  cents.  With  that  chain  on 
his  watch  Jim  might  be  properly  anxious  about  the  time  in  any 
company.  Grand  as  the  watch  was,  he  sometimes  looked  at 
it  on  the  sly  on  account  of  the  old  leather  strap  that  he  used 
in  place  of  a  chain. 

When  Delia  reached  home  her  intoxication  gave  way  a  little 
to  prudence  and  reason.  She  got  out  her  curling  irons  and 
lighted  the  gas  and  went  to  work  repairing  the  ravages  made 
by  generosity  added  to  love.  Which  is  always  a  tremendous 
task,  dear  friends  —  a  mammoth  task. 

Within  forty  minutes  her  head  was  covered  with  tiny,  close- 
lying  curls  that  made  her  look  wonderfully  like  a  truant  school- 
boy. She  looked  at  her  reflection  in  the  mirror  long,  carefully, 
and  critically. 

"If  Jim  doesn't  kill  me,"  she  said  to  herself,  "before  he 
takes  a  second  look  at  me,  he  '11  say  I  look  like  a  Coney  Island 
chorus  girl.  But  what  could  I  do  —  oh !  what  could  I  do  with 
a  dollar  and  eighty-seven  cents  ? " 

At  7  o'clock  the  coffee  was  made  and  the  frying-pan  was  on 
the  back  of  the  stove  hot  and  ready  to  cook  the  chops. 

Jim  was  never  late.  Delia  doubled  the  fob  chain  in  her  hand 
and  sat  on  the  comer  of  the  table  near  the  door  that  he  always 
entered.  Then  she  heard  his  step  on  the  stair  away  down  on 
the  first  flight,  and  she  turned  white  for  just  a  moment.  She 
had  a  habit  of  saying  little  silent  prayers  about  the  simplest 
everyday  things,  and  now  she  whispered :  "  Please  God,  make 
him  think  I  am  still  pretty." 


2QO  SHORT   STORIES 

The  door  opened  and  Jim  stepped  in  and  closed  it.  He 
looked  thin  and  very  serious.  Poor  fellow,  he  was  only  twenty- 
two  —  and  to  be  burdened  with  a  family !  He  needed  a  new 
overcoat  and  he  was  without  gloves. 

Jim  stopped  inside  the  door,  as  immovable  as  a  setter  at  the 
scent  of  quail.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Delia,  and  there  was 
an  expression  in  them  that  she  could  not  read,  and  it  terrified 
her.  It  was  not  anger,  nor  surprise,  nor  disapproval,  nor  horror, 
nor  any  of  the  sentiments  that  she  had  been  prepared  for.  He 
simply  stared  at  her  fixedly  with  that  peculiar  expression  on 
his  face. 

Delia  wriggled  off  the  table  and  went  for  him. 

"Jim,  darling,"  she  cried,  "don't  look  at  me  that  way.  I 
had  my  hair  cut  off  and  sold  it  because  I  couldn't  have  lived 
through  Christmas  without  giving  you  a  present.  It  '11  grow 
out  again  —  you  won't  mind,  will  you?  I  just  had  to  do  it. 
My  hair  grows  awfully  fast.  Say  *  Merry  Christmas  ! '  Jim,  and 
let 's  be  happy.  You  don't  know  what  a  nice — what  a  beautiful, 
nice  gift  I  Ve  got  for  you." 

"  You  Ve  cut  off  your  hair  ? "  asked  Jim,  laboriously,  as  if 
he  had  not  arrived  at  that  patent  fact  yet  even  after  the  hardest 
mental  labour. 

"  Cut  it  off  and  sold  it,"  said  Delia.  "  Don't  you  like  me 
just  as  well,  anyhow  ?  I'm  me  without  my  hair,  ain't  I  ? " 

Jim  looked  about  the  room  curiously. 

"  You  say  your  hair  is  gone  ? "  he  said,  with  an  air  almost 
of  idiocy. 

"You  needn't  look  for  it,"  said  Delia.  "It's  sold,  I  tell 
you  —  sold  and  gone,  too.  It 's  Christmas  Eve,  boy.  Be  good 
to  me,  for  it  went  for  you.  Maybe  the  hairs  of  my  head  were 
numbered,"  she  went  on  with  a  sudden  serious  sweetness,  "  but 
nobody  could  ever  count  my  love  for  you.  Shall  I  put  the 
chops  on,  Jim  ?  " 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  MAGI  291 

Out  of  his  trance  Jim  seemed  quickly  to  wake.  He  en- 
folded his  Delia.  For  ten  seconds  let  us  regard  with  discreet 
scrutiny  some  inconsequential  object  in  the  other  direction. 
Eight  dollars  a  week  or  a  million  a  year  —  what  is  the 
difference  ?  A  mathematician  or  a  wit  would  give  you  the 
wrong  answer.  The  magi  brought  valuable  gifts,  but  that 
was  not  among  them.  This  dark  assertion  will  be  illuminated 
later  on. 

Jim  drew  a  package  from  his  overcoat  pocket  and  threw  it 
upon  the  table. 

"  Don't  make  any  mistake,  Dell,"  he  said,  "  about  me.  I 
don't  think  there 's  anything  in  the  way  of  a  haircut  or  a  shave 
or  a  shampoo  that  could  make  me  like  my  girl  any  less.  But  if 
you  '11  unwrap  that  package  you  may  see  why  you  had  me  going 
a  while  at  first." 

White  fingers  and  nimble  tore  at  the  string  and  paper.  And 
then  an  ecstatic  scream  of  joy;  and  then,  alas!  a  quick  femi- 
nine change  to  hysterical  tears  and  wails,  necessitating  the 
immediate  employment  of  all  the  comforting  powers  of  the  lord 
of  the  flat. 

For  there  lay  The  Combs  —  the  set  of  combs,  side  and  back, 
that  Delia  had  worshipped  for  long  in  a  Broadway  window. 
Beautiful  combs,  pure  tortoise  shell,  with  jewelled  rims  —  just 
the  shade  to  wear  in  the  beautiful  vanished  hair.  They  were 
expensive  combs,  she  knew,  and  her  heart  had  simply  craved 
and  yearned  over  them  without  the  least  hope  of  possession. 
And  now,  they  were  hers,  but  the  tresses  that  should  have 
adorned  the  coveted  adornments  were  gone. 

But  she  hugged  them  to  her  bosom,  and  at  length  she  was 
able  to  look  up  with  dim  eyes  and  a  smile  and  say :  "  My  hair 
grows  so  fast,  Jim  !  " 

And  then  Delia  leaped  up  like  a  little  singed  cat  and  cried, 
"Oh,  oh!" 


2Q2  SHORT   STORIES 

Jim  had  not  yet  seen  his  beautiful  present.  She  held  it  out 
to  him  eagerly  upon  her  open  palm.  The  dull  precious  metal 
seemed  to  flash  with  a  reflection  of  her  bright  and  ardent  spirit. 

"  Is  n't  it  a  dandy,  Jim  ?  I  hunted  all  over  town  to  find  it. 
You  '11  have  to  look  at  the  time  a  hundred  times  a  day  now. 
Give  me  your  watch.  I  want  to  see  how  it  looks  on  it." 

Instead  of  obeying,  Jim  tumbled  down  on  the  couch  and  put 
his  hands  under  the  back  of  his  head  and  smiled.  "  Dell,"  said 
he,  "let's  put  our  Christmas  presents  away  and  keep  'em  a 
while.  They're  too  nice  to  use  just  at  present.  I  sold  the 
watch  to  get  the  money  to  buy  your  combs.  And  now  suppose 
you  put  the  chops  on." 

The  magi,  as  you  know,  were  wise  men  —  wonderfully  wise 
men  —  who  brought  gifts  to  the  Babe  in  the  manger.  They 
invented  the  art  of  giving  Christmas  presents.  Being  wise, 
their  gifts  were  no  doubt  wise  ones,  possibly  bearing  the  privi- 
lege of  exchange  in  case  of  duplication.  And  here  I  have  lamely 
related  to  you  the  uneventful  chronicle  of  two  foolish  children 
in  a  flat  who  most  unwisely  sacrificed  for  each  other  the  great- 
est treasures  of  their  house.  But  in  a  last  word  to  the  wise  of 
these  days  let  it  be  said  that  of  all  who  give  gifts  these  two  were 
the  wisest.  Of  all  who  give  and  receive  gifts,  sucH  as  they  are 
wisest.  Everywhere  they  are  wisest.  They  are  the  magi. 


J  (U !  V 


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